A Mess of a Man
by AspenRising
Summary: This is the twisted tale of a broken man, Aizawa Shouta, captured by the League of Villains and forced to relive the same tortures that had ruined him ten years ago. Now, a decade wiser and clinging to Hizashi as his only source of comfort, will Aizawa make it out of this alive? And if he does, will he ever be the same? Major trigger warnings inside - EraserMic
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Regimen

Noun: a prescribed way of life to promote overall health and wellness

As Aizawa had many times before, and as he would many times in the future, Aizawa met one of his suitors in the private teacher's bathroom of UA during the student's lunch break.

"Aizawa," called a familiar, gruff voice.

"Yo," called Aizawa as he put out his cigarette and let his scarf fall to the floor with the rest of his clothing.

"Are you gonna let me fuck you or not?" asked the impatient voice from the other side of the large stall.

"Hold on…fucking hell," muttered Aizawa as he slipped out of his shoes. Things got semen and bodily fluids on them more often than not, so it was best to be proactive about that.

He could usually be found smoking out the bathroom window like a delinquent teen. Aizawa would wait, knowing that more often than not, someone would come looking for him. Someone would want to fuck him, and that gave him purpose during these god awful lunch breaks that were too short for a nap and yet somehow long enough to be mind numbingly boring.

Aizawa opened the stall door and Vlad rushed through the entryway without so much as a greeting. He huffed and puffed and ran his hands through his hair.

"Stressful day," commented Aizawa, not really asking.

"You could say that," said Vlad, not really answering.

And then Vlad was kissing his jaw with rough lips and biting his neck with sharp teeth. Aizawa's hair lifted like a halo as Vlad spun him around and manhandled him to the bathroom floor. As per usual, there was no resistance from Aizawa regardless of Vlad's choices. Aizawa bent forward subserviently and waited.

Large hands spread his ass cheeks until the skin burned where it stretched. Aizawa winced and wriggled to lessen the burden on his kneecaps against the cold tiles of the bathroom floor.

"You look used, Aizawa," said the rival 1-B teacher behind him. His voice echoed in the small space.

"Then use me already," sighed Aizawa. He held his heavy head with his fist on his chin and his elbow on tile. He was going to fall asleep if Vlad didn't fuck him soon.

Finally, a calloused thumb rimmed his entrance – along with a bit of spit – a bit of manipulated blood. Vlad's thumb pulled at the ring of muscle, assessing how much prep work needed to be done. Vlad huffed. Not much prep at all, if any.

Aizawa hummed lowly, his eyelids drooping, until he felt Vlad's thickness pressing into him.

"Ah – ahh," gasped Aizawa as he was stretched open with small, considerate thrusts. Vlad was always a gentleman no matter how much Aizawa taunted him with the class 1-A achievements. He was always gentle. Not that Aizawa minded so much, but he preferred someone a bit more full on, a bit more rough around the edges. As Aizawa daydreamed about old conquests, Vlad made his way deeper and deeper until Aizawa cried out.

"There it is," muttered Vlad. He held Aizawa's hips in place and started fucking into that sweet spot that he knew Aizawa liked. He was a gentleman, of course, always a gentleman.

Aizawa's legs began to tremble as the stimulation proved to be too much. His sweaty hair fell down around his eyes as he struggled to see straight. His stomach coiled and his hard cock bounced unattended to as Vlad fucked him harder.

"Fuck you're tight," groaned Vlad as his fingers bruised pale hips, "I don't know how that's possible anymore."

Aizawa almost laughed. He wasn't sure either since he really got around the pro-hero circle. Perhaps it was good genes, but he couldn't think about that right now, not with his asshole stretched open by the solid, hulking man behind him. Aizawa tried to breathe through the overwhelming sensations as he shook. His arms collapsed and his face landed flat on the cooling bathroom tiles.

"Shit," Aizawa hissed as his recently cheekbone thudded on the floor. Too tired to hold himself up, he just barely managed to turn the other cheek to rest on the ground.

At this point, Vlad's forearm strength was the only thing that kept his ass high in the air and fuckable. He felt like a living doll.

"Fuuck," groaned Vlad as his rhythm changed and he unloaded his balls deep in Aizawa's ass. After a few final, pointed thrusts for good measure, Vlad pulled out and let Aizawa sink to the floor.

"You're such a mess," said Vlad as he cleaned off his shrinking erection, paying no mind to the aching hard-on attached to Aizawa's limp body. "You should get up before someone sees you."

"Great advice," murmured Aizawa in a sex-induced haze as Vlad left and shut the bathroom door behind him. He truly didn't care who saw – maybe they would fuck him too – but eventually the cold floor made his muscles ache. Aizawa sat up, let Vlad's cum drip down his thighs without a second thought, and got back into his uniform to teach the post-lunch classes.

On his way out the door, Aizawa bumped into Hizashi Yamada.

"Oi," yelled Hizashi too loudly when Aizawa stepped on his toes. Hizashi's voice always gave him a headache this early in the day, although it was already past noon.

Hizashi sniffed the air and analyzed Aizawa's disheveled appearance – more disheveled than usual anyways – with the sweaty hair and unbuckled pants. Aizawa saw Hizashi's eyes trailing down as he finished lacing the belt and buckling it tight on his bruised hips.

Aizawa snorted softly, always amused by Hizashi's propriety and prudish sensibilities.

"Sorry, you just missed my last open slot for the day," said Aizawa with a slow wink, "but if you get here before Vlad tomorrow, I'll have lunch ready for you."

"No that's not – that's okay – I don't – " he sputtered.

Hizashi turned beet red instantly and put his hands up as if to defend himself from this lewd invitation. He knew that Aizawa was sexually open. Rumors got around that Aizawa would never say no to anyone or anything. Hizashi had even heard of bets going around on what various colleagues could get Aizawa to agree to. Those bets soon lost their novelty when the players realized that Aizawa would always agree.

Those thoughts ran through Hizashi's mind while he stared at Aizawa with a gaping mouth. He remembered suddenly, he had just been propositioned. How could he have forgotten?

"Ai-Aizawa-san –" started Hizashi.

Aizawa rolled his eyes and brushed past Hizashi. His frame was thin and he could always move in and out of tight spaces. His hair brushed by Hizashi's nose and Hizashi finally recognized that scent. It was all musk and sex and that obtrusive cologne that Vlad wears.

"Don't worry," called Aizawa over his shoulder, "I don't bite."

Then Aizawa left Hizashi alone in the teacher break room, standing halfway through the doorway of their private bathroom. Hizashi took a deep shuddering breath and tried to remind himself of why he had come here. To use the bathroom of course. Yes, that's right. He hurried into one of the stalls, having only a few minutes before class, and rubbed one out so that his students wouldn't catch on to his wildly raging hormones. Aizawa always got him going. Thinking about Aizawa bent over for their colleagues – thinking about what it would be like if Hizashi were brave enough to take that wily man for a ride.

But something about Aizawa scared him too. That lewd and blasé exterior hid something dead and broken inside. Hizashi didn't want to go near it, fearing that whatever it was would only break him in return. And yet, Hizashi was brave. He was a pro-hero for goodness sake. So the very next day, as soon as lunch started, Hizashi was waiting in the bathroom. He had a new packet of cigarettes, the kind he knew Aizawa liked – an offering of sorts – but Aizawa never showed. Instead, Aizawa had been called out to a pro-hero agency to discuss Todoroki Shoto's problematic behavior involving the Hero Killer Stain.

Halfway across the city, Aizawa was sitting face to face with the number two hero: Endeavor. Raging flames made the room unbearably warm, and the smell of ash and smoke made Aizawa a bit light headed. Looking back, he wished he had finished off that water bottle before stepping into Enji's office. Aizawa felt sweat drip down his temple as the temperature slowly increased. If this were a tactic to get him to take his clothes off, it would probably work faster than Enji intended.

"You requested my presence, Todoroki-sama," said Aizawa with a deep bow while he remained seated. It was odd to refer to this man with his student's surname, but the number two hero deserved respect.

Enji got straight to the point.

"I sent my son to your school to make him a hero, not a lawless vigilante," boomed Enji.

The room grew hotter still. Flames licked the ceiling and the wooden desk between them. Aizawa idly wondered what brand of flame retardant kept Enji's possessions safe from his hell flame quirk.

Aizawa bowed in apology, half out of respect, half to hide his yawn as the heat made him sleepy.

"I apologize. It is with my deepest regret that I allowed young Shoto to veer from the path of a hero. As a teacher, his actions are my responsibility. I sincerely feel that it was my failure as mentor that led to Shoto's poor decision making that night. I will rectify this through proper discipline and training – both for myself and your son," said Aizawa as he bowed at the hips. He had rehearsed and recited this apology speech mentally for entire train ride from UA to the Hero Agency.

Enji seemed thoroughly unimpressed and unmoved, but that was to be expected. He had high standards that people rarely met, and so people were apologizing to him day in and day out.

"I have half a mind to withdraw Shoto from UA and enroll him in Shiketsu," said Enji roughly, not accepting the scripted apology.

Aizawa sighed. He knew that Shiketsu was good, but they produced heroes that were half as talented and twice as arrogant as UA heroes. Shoto's ego would flourish, but his talent would suffer. Aizawa knew that if Shoto's talent suffered, his home life would suffer as well. Thinking through his options, Aizawa decided on the most selfish route possible.

He straightened his back, cracked his neck, and stood up to stretch his ribs. A hint of pale skin peaked through the gap between his shirt and his pants.

"Don't you feel warm?" asked Aizawa as he removed his jacket, his scarf, his goggles, and his over-shirt, "because I do." He was left with his baggy pants and a thin black tank top that showed off his lean body. Aizawa plopped back down and threw his feet up on Enji's desk to lean back and relax.

"What the hell are you playing at?" growled Enji, taken aback by Aizawa's sudden change in demeanor and lack of respect.

"I think I can convince you to let Shoto stay – if you'll let me," said Aizawa as he stifled a yawn. "UA is the best school for him and you know it, but I'll work for it if you need an added incentive."

Enji's flaming eyebrows scrunched together as he tried to process this blatantly flirtatious – no, not flirtatious – this blatantly sexual proposition. Interns tried to curry favor in this way every other year or so, but Enji had standards. This was the first time a peer had come on to him in such a way, and Enji thought that maybe he could finally give in to those darker desires for a change. This man was of age. This man was willing.

Enji smirked and his heat died down. He didn't want to kill the poor bastard after all.

"Go on then," he said with a low and still somehow threatening tone.

Aizawa would have smirked if he weren't so tired. He unbuckled his pants and left his shoes on the other side of the desk. Vlad's dried cum was still sticking to his thighs, but he hoped that wouldn't ruin the deal. When Aizawa made it to the other side of the desk, Enji grabbed his elbow, pulled him forward, and pressed him face first into the overheated desk. Hot hands trailed his hips and his thighs as Enji inspected his body. Aizawa thought he may have even heard a chuckle from the stern man behind him.

"Don't tell me I'm the second man you've tried to strike a deal with today," said Enji as his fingers brushed over the dried stains around Aizawa's asshole.

"Wasn't a deal," said Aizawa bluntly, "just a friendly fuck in the bathroom yesterday."

Enji blinked, realizing that indicated a serious lack of hygiene, but something about this grimy mess of a man made his blood rush south.

"If you're trying to convince me that you're a suitable teacher, it's not working," said Enji as he grabbed a cup of water from the water cooler and heated it in his hands. He splashed the steaming liquid down Aizawa's crack and thighs to clean the smaller man's skin.

"Something's working," said Aizawa with a respectful amount of sass for the massive man who was presumably about to wreck his ass.

Enji just chuckled, feeling somewhat lighthearted for the first time since the hero killer incident. Maybe he would call on this absurd teacher more often if things went well. Enji then spit straight down and hit Aizawa's used asshole perfectly.

"Ah! Hot!" yelped Aizawa as he bucked forward. More steaming hot spit followed as Enji prepped Aizawa and got the man ready for what would be the fuck of a lifetime.

"Get ready," warned Enji as he lined up his massive, throbbing cock with Aizawa's entrance.

Slowly, he pressed forward as Aizawa bucked forward and writhed in something akin to agony. He had never been this stretched out before – never been this full of another man's burning hot cock. Aizawa was sure the searing pain would rip him open.

"Do you want to stop?" asked Enji as he paused halfway.

Aizawa took deep, uneven breaths of hot, ashen air. Did he want to stop? Maybe, somewhere deep down. But honestly, he also just really wanted a rough lay after Vlad's subpar efforts.

"Don't stop," breathed Aizawa.

Enji smirked, never having been able to fuck someone up the ass with so little prep before. The spontaneity was exhilarating, and the moment was getting to his head.

"Alright then," growled Enji as he took a fistful of black hair in one hand and a handful of ass in the other. With one sharp snap of his hips, Enji buried his cock deep in Aizawa's burning ass.

Aizawa cried out in pain as his stomach was pushed out of the way and his insides rearranged themselves to make room for Enji's massive girth and length.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," cursed Aizawa as he trembled with his back arched to accommodate the hair pulling that Enji seemed to enjoy, "more spit, god, fuck."

Enji obliged as he started to slip out, giving Aizawa some reprieve while he lubricated the shaft of his cock. Once he was satisfied that he was slick enough to prevent Aizawa from bleeding out, Enji started bucking his hips again.

"Oh fuck," cried Aizawa as involuntary tears of pain clung to his lashes. This man was a mammoth. He had never been with anyone this big – and he wasn't sure he would ever be able to go back.

"Not many people can take me up their ass," breathed Enji as fire rippled across his shoulders, "I think I'll keep you around."

Aizawa tried to nod against the hold in his hair, but he was immobilized as Enji held him in place and rammed his cock from tip to base. Aizawa thought he might throw up at one point. He thought he might burn from the inside out. He thought he might die when Endeavor started pounding his ass so hard that the desk started to bruise the front of Aizawa's thighs.

"Shit," breathed Enji as flames roared and made Aizawa sweat. He pushed Aizawa's head back down into the desk and Enji grabbed the edge of the wood to hold as he felt his climax nearing. Uneven slams shattered Aizawa's world, and his only primal instinct was to cover his head with his arms and hide from the incinerating heat above him. "Yes, fuck," groaned Enji.

Enji's hips spasmed and Aizawa convulsed as he felt something even hotter burning his insides. He could have sworn in was hot enough to blister, but future inspections would disprove that theory.

"Fucking hurts, damn it," groaned Aizawa as Enji pulled out and hot liquid poured from Aizawa's gaping hole.

Enji patted Aizawa's ass twice with a large hand before standing up to go clean up. Aizawa was left once again to tend to himself, but this time he could hardly stand without cringing.

"I would have stopped you know, if it hurt that badly," said Enji with his back turned, but Aizawa couldn't really decipher Enji's tone, "I'm not a monster."

Aizawa just groaned as he rolled off the desk and onto the floor with a thud. He stretched out to reach his clothes and just got dressed on his back like an oversized, overturned beetle.

"I never wanted you to stop," muttered Aizawa, finally answering some sort of insecurity that Enji must have had. He had heard stories of the way Enji treated his wife and kids. Maybe he wasn't a rapist, but he was a monster all the same. Still, that didn't stop Aizawa from enjoying being ruined by the man.

"I'll let Shoto stay at UA," said Enji as he buckled his trousers. "I expect a personal update on his progress next semester."

"Yes, Todoroki-sama," breathed Aizawa as he used the desk to prop himself up.

He winced at the pain that shot through his insides and the liquid that burned down his bruised thighs. With a weak and shallow bow, Aizawa left with his mission accomplished. It was selfish, truly, but the end results were the same. Regardless of the means, he would keep his class intact and his students' safe. On the bright side, Aizawa was sure that young Todoroki would never find out just what his teacher had to do to keep him at UA. Although, the imagined look of rage and horror was enough to make Aizawa chuckle all the way home.

A few days passed and Aizawa could still feel Enji's abuse on his body. His thighs hurt. His ass hurt. Over all, Aizawa was closed for business for the time being because otherwise he was positive he would break something. So, instead of chain smoking in the bathroom while waiting for random men, Aizawa was bundled in his unwashed sleeping bag. He pulled the worn fabric tight around his shoulders as he hunched over a Styrofoam cup of ramen. The steam opened his sinuses and made his aching eyes just a little less dry.

"Yo, Aizawa," called a loud voice, followed by a clanging and scraping of metal chair legs on linoleum.

Aizawa's blood shot eyes raised slowly to see Hizashi had pulled up a chair across the table with a bowl of real leftover ramen. He could smell the tonkotsu broth, richer and fuller than his instant noodles. There were mushrooms, bamboo shoots, and even a bit of pork belly. Aizawa looked between their vastly different meals and felt his mouth water.

"You know we get paid enough to afford nice shit, right?" asked Hizashi.

Aizawa shrugged, picked up his chopsticks, and stirred the shrimp flavored junk food slowly. Then, a few slices of pork belly and half a boiled egg plopped into his instant cup straight from Hizashi's ceramic. Aizawa scrunched his face in confusion, and looked up only to see Hizashi slurping noodles and pretending to mind his own business. He wasn't a charity case, he just constantly misplaced his wallet, but the gesture made something stir in his belly.

"Maybe you're so tired all the time because you don't eat properly," said Hizashi through a mouthful of reheated noodles.

"Maybe," said Aizawa as he took a bite of pork belly and cherished the burst of flavor. But when those delicious toppings were gone, he was left with bland over salted noodles that were no longer satisfying. This was why he didn't get nice things. Nice things went away and ruined the bad things he could have tolerated.

"Didn't see you during lunch," muttered Aizawa. He hadn't been there, but he was sure that Hizashi hadn't shown up, and he just wanted to push a few buttons.

"Yeah, I didn't see you either," said Hizashi with a faint redness on his cheeks. He fumbled in his pockets before pulling out a battered carton of unopened cigarettes – just the kind that Aizawa liked. Hizashi pushed them across the table and said, "take them. I don't smoke."

Aizawa nearly smiled as he picked up the carton and inspected it for no reason.

"I didn't think you would show up," said Aizawa with the tiniest smirk.

"I didn't think I would either," muttered Hizashi before he downed the last of his broth and stood up with a deep spinal stretch, "Well! See you around!"

And Aizawa was left staring at the gift of sweet tobacco in his hands. He was rarely given gifts outside of sexual expectations. Something made his heart beat a little quicker, but he remembered that Hizashi probably did have those sexual expectations, and his heart went back to normal.

Aizawa jumped up uncharacteristically quickly, abandoning his unfinished ramen, and raced out of the break room to catch Hizashi down the hall.

"Oi, Yamada," called Aizawa with a level of formality that he reserved for public settings in front of students.

Hizashi turned around when he heard his surname and scrunched his brows in confusion. Had he left something?

"Next week…are you going to the summer training camp?" asked Aizawa, but he didn't know why he wanted to know. He didn't know why it would matter. Perhaps he just wanted to check off this overly resistant conquest once and for all.

Hizashi shrugged and thought for a moment while he watched Aizawa catch his breath. His disheveled hair looked soft and beautiful. His bloodshot eyes were battle-worn and charismatic. Hizashi felt something stir in his stomach.

"Yeah, uh, I don't know…but I think I might go now," he said quickly and turned to hide the flush on his cheeks. He was a pro-hero, Hizashi told himself, and he would be brave.

"Cool," said Aizawa simply, and he turned on his heels and left, feeling a sense of triumph over an otherwise boring day.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Insouciance

Noun: Blithe nonchalance, a casual lack of concern and indifference

Summer had arrived in full force with an uncharacteristically sweltering heat wave. Temperatures seemed to have doubled in the passing weeks. Aizawa felt somewhat smug knowing that his students were fending for themselves in the humid forest. He had the luxury of napping like a cat in the sunny window of the air-conditioned cabin while they worked hard. More so, Aizawa felt like he could finally relax out here away from the constant drone of city life. No one knew where they were, and they were safe for a time being. Feeling something that might have been happiness, Aizawa stretched on the floor where the last of the sunbeams existed, and hardly moved a muscle when the door opened with a bang and slammed shut shortly thereafter.

Aizawa smelled the familiar overpowering cologne. He didn't even have to open his eyes.

"I almost tripped over you," complained Vlad gruffly as he sidestepped the legs blocking the doorway.

"I'm sure you would have survived," murmured Aizawa as he fought to stay in this sleepy haze.

"We all live here this week, show a little respect," said Vlad curtly.

Aizawa groaned and sat up. He watched Vlad change out of his hero uniform and into a more casual outfit comprised of joggers and a formfitting t-shirt. With Vlad's back turned to Aizawa, the man on the floor could only watch the muscles rippling in Vlad's broad shoulders. This was a view he rarely had the pleasure to witness, since he was usually facedown in front of his 1-B rival.

Still, something about watching Vlad turn his back on Aizawa and ignore him made Aizawa's eye twitch in irritation. He knew exactly what to say to make Vlad pay attention.

"Your class doesn't stand a chance this week," said Aizawa "just a fair warning Seki-chan."

He snorted when he saw Vlad's back muscles tense in irritation. Vlad yanked at his joggers too hard and ripped the seam at the ankle. Aizawa laughed and Vlad spun around.

"I told you not to call me that," warned Vlad as he tied his joggers at the waist.

"So what?" asked Aizawa as he leaned back on his palms, legs still spread out in front of the doorway, trying to catch the last of the dying sunbeams on his face.

Aizawa heard what could only be described as a growl before he felt his body being lifted up by the thin fabric of his under shirt. His toes left the ground and he heard little snaps in the fabric as his weight tested the material.

"Say it to my face," spat Vlad.

Aizawa watched his colleague with interest, not quite understanding Vlad's aversion to his birth name, not quite caring. Maybe it was some deep, dark, painful secret – but they all had those and Vlad wasn't special.

"Seki-chaaaan," drawled Aizawa in a bored, low tone. His eyes turned red, ready to either fight or be fucked.

"I'm not in the mood for your shit today, Aizawa," cursed Vlad as his fists curled.

The door opened suddenly with the rest of the teachers who had accompanied the first year students. Hizashi, Midnight, Ectoplasm, and Snipe entered with tired faces from the long trip. They hardly blinked at the altercation – knowing the tumultuous relationship between Vlad and Aizawa – no one caring to break up their constant spats.

"Who started it this time?" asked Midnight as she dropped unceremoniously into her designated bed across the room.

"He did," said both men simultaneously.

Vlad grimaced and let go of Aizawa with a shove, causing him to stumble backwards into the wall with a thud. Aizawa tch'ed and rubbed the back of his head. He had been so relaxed before that brute of a man got here.

"I'm not sleeping next to him," grumbled Vlad as he moved his things to Midnight's side of the room.

"Come on guys, we're not the high-schoolers here," muttered Snipe as he removed his iconic mask. It was rare – something Aizawa had only glimpsed a few times – Snipe's smooth dark skin, strong jaw, and high chiseled cheekbones under an unruly head of hair. He was a beautiful man.

Aizawa headed over to claim the bed between Snipe and Hizashi.

"That mask is a disservice," murmured Aizawa under his breath so that Vlad, at the very least, couldn't hear him.

Snipe chuckled as he unloaded his guns for the evening. This wasn't his first rodeo with Aizawa.

"Then I won't wear it next time," said Snipe under his breath with a wink and a bright white smile.

Snipe left to shower, and Aizawa turned to Hizashi, who was removing the gigantic speaker from around his neck. Aizawa opened his mouth to say something equally as inappropriate to this loud-mouthed man, but Hizashi cut his flirtations short with a pointed glare. Hizashi hated it when Aizawa was lewd like this in public. It was embarrassing and it made his stomach knot. Hizashi was proud. Hizashi was insecure. He wanted to be a first choice, not a random selection. Hadn't only the first year homeroom teachers been invited originally? Had Aizawa invited all of these teachers here to fuck with just the same as him?

Hizashi finally looked over to see that Aizawa was watching him undress with a blank expression.

"What?" snapped Hizashi, regretting it instantly.

Aizawa just rolled his tired eyes away from Hizashi's harsh judgments and started getting ready for bed. This involved simply unfurling his sleeping bag over the stiff cabin mattress and getting inside still fully dressed.

"Fucking prude," muttered Aizawa. He didn't really care what Hizashi – his oldest acquaintance – thought of him. He really didn't. The sudden hurt in his chest didn't mean a thing. He shut his eyes against the mysterious pain and wrapped himself tightly in the old sleeping bag to replace his desire for human warmth. Before the UA teachers knew it, they were sound asleep after a long day of chaperoning rambunctious children.

"waaAAKEE UPP!" screeched a falsetto voice seemingly determined to make Aizawa's ears bleed.

Aizawa flipped over in his sleeping bag to glare at Hizashi, which caused him to fall out of bed and crash into the nightstand. Aizawa threw an unidentified object at the obtrusive idiot, but Hizashi dodged effortlessly. Aizawa's eye went red and Hizashi's loud mouth quirk was cut off instantly.

"Shut up," growled Aizawa from the floor. Once he was sure that Hizashi would stop screaming, Aizawa gave his eyes a break and curled back into his sleeping bag. He regretted agreeing to this summer camp. He regretted accepting work at UA. He regretted being born.

Suddenly, his sleeping bag was peeled from his body in one fell swoop by a grinning and gleaming Midnight.

"Come on, Sho-chan, you already missed breakfast," said Midnight with her ever chipper tone, "let's be passionate and youthful for the kids today!"

Aizawa muttered something about murdering his colleagues, but he rose like the dead just the same. He would just take out his frustrations on those annoying kids until they were strong enough not to annoy him anymore. The teachers filed out to meet in the clearings – most bright eyed and bush-tailed – but Aizawa followed suit in yesterday's clothes without even brushing his teeth. He then spent the morning setting up the various exercises that he knew each student needed. Some needed strength training. Some needed dexterity. Some just needed common sense.

Aizawa eyed students involved in the hero incident and sighed. Those were the ones that needed common sense. Then his eyes trailed to Bakugo who was raging while he shot off explosion after boiling explosion. If he could teach humility as well, he would have done so long ago, but that was a quality that would either come with time and maturity, or it wouldn't.

Meanwhile, Hizashi was using his quirk to direct training drills for a few other students who needed to work on their stamina. Aizawa caught himself watching Hizashi more than once. The loud man had good leadership skills and good judgment – Aizawa had know that since childhood – and he was much less annoying when he was far away with that quirk of his. The silken blonde hair gleamed in the sun without his usual gel holding it upright. Aizawa contemplated how those golden tendrils would feel brushing his back while Hizashi fucked him.

Perhaps he would find out today.

Determination set in.

Aizawa made his way over as inconspicuously as possible.

"Oi, Yamada," said Aizawa as he got close enough not to be overheard, "can I talk to you? Alone?"

Hizashi stammered midsentence, went silent, and quite a few students stumbled over each other as they lost their verbal guidance through the exercises. Aizawa rolled his eyes and turned to leave. He would address that lack of self-reliance in those students later. For now, he only cared about the footsteps trailing behind him in the grass. The two men walked silently until they reached their cabin, but Aizawa guided them around back instead of going inside. They stood between the wooden wall and a rocky overhang. No one would find them there.

"You wanted to talk?" asked Hizashi as his nerves started to crumble. Aizawa had always made him nervous with that deadpan, unreadable expression. After all these years, he had never quite gotten used to it.

"Yeah," muttered Aizawa as he squinted and leaned his pale face back to catch some sun.

There was silence.

Did Aizawa bring Hizashi here to make him feel stupid? If so, it was working.

"Why did you ask if I was coming here?" asked Hizashi with a hoarse voice after a long morning of drill instruction.

That hoarseness stirred Aizawa's loins. He preferred that to Hizashi's usual obnoxious tone.

"I just wanted to know," said Aizawa simply, playing the long game, making Hizashi ask for it.

"Did you ask anyone else?" Hizashi asked, aware of how insecure he sounded.

"No," said Aizawa with the hint of a smirk.

Hizashi's eyebrows shot up. His mouth opened and shut over a hundred possible responses. Hizashi was quite honestly surprised. He knew that Aizawa slept around, but he felt special anyways.

"Principle Nezu assigned additional UA pros for protection," finished Aizawa, "He let me choose the last spot."

"Good," said Hizashi finally – still feeling irredeemably stupid.

"Good," said Aizawa.

Aizawa's eyes reddened and his hair started to float as his scarf shot forward and wrapped around Hizashi's waist. He pulled the blond man forward until they were eye level with their hips pressed together. Hizashi nearly screeched at the sudden movement, and Aizawa was lucky that he had already suppressed Hizashi's quirk.

"Are you always that loud?" murmured Aizawa. His eyes faded back to black. The scarf fell from Hizashi's waist.

Hizashi shook his head quickly, still unable to speak despite the return of his voice.

"Good," said Aizawa again.

Aizawa smirked as he craned his neck and tilted his head so that their lips were inches apart. He was waiting for Hizashi to make the final decision. He could feel Hizashi's erection throbbing against his hipbone. He could feel Hizashi's rapid heart rate against his own chest. He could see the dilated pupils pushing against lime green irises.

"What are you waiting for?" breathed Aizawa.

Hizashi didn't know.

All he knew was that he wanted this dark and sultry man. He had wanted him for a long time. Hizashi reached up and brushed a few dark hairs from Aizawa's face. They hung over the tired crowsfeet encircling his eyes and hid the nasty scar on his cheekbone. Even so, he liked it when Aizawa wore his hair back, and so he tucked a dark tendril behind Aizawa's ear. Aizawa's breath hitched. He hadn't expected something so tender and intimate – but none of that mattered in the long run – not when he had Hizashi right where he wanted him at long last. And so Aizawa broke the tension by moving forward to taste Hizashi's lips. They were salty and wet from the heat of the summer day. He smelled good, like pine and oak. Aizawa bit Hizashi's bottom lip gently, urging Hizashi forward. Then, finally, Hizashi's hands were in his hair, down his back, around his waist. They were roaming, exploring, clinging, and searching for anything to help him hold on to this moment.

Aizawa pulled on Hizashi's shirt as he walked backwards until Aizawa's back hit the cabin wall. He pulled Hizashi to press against his torso. Suddenly, everything just felt right. The shade was nice. The wood was rough. The air was pure. Aizawa had been fucked in worse places. He reached down and undid his belt buckle without breaking their kiss, and started to fumble with the complex straps on Hizashi's pants next.

Hizashi's hands stopped him, and Hizashi pulled away with a concerned look on his face.

"Are you sure?" he asked softly.

Aizawa blinked a few times, trying to understand what about his own body language had made him seem unsure to Hizashi. Maybe Hizashi wasn't ready to go all the way yet – Aizawa wouldn't pressure him. Instead, Aizawa dropped gracefully to his knees and offered an uncharacteristically pleasant smile as he unzipped Hizashi's skinny pants. A veiny, dripping erection sprang forth and Aizawa was rather pleased with the size. He wanted that beast in his ass, but he would settle for his throat for today.

"Are _you_ sure?" asked Aizawa, turning the tables. He licked his lips, preparing his mouth for a wild ride.

Hizashi could have fainted in the summer heat as his lust for his childhood friend drove him over the edge. He stared down at Aizawa, part of his view obstructed by his own aching cock. It was obscene. It was pornographic. Hizashi couldn't hold back anymore. He wrapped one hand in Aizawa's hair and held his cock in his fist as he drew the tip over Aizawa's bottom lip. Pre-cum trailed over Aizawa's pink skin, and Aizawa licked it away dutifully. It was salty and neutral, a perfect start to their first encounter.

Aizawa extended his inappropriately long tongue to swirl around Hizashi's tip and Hizashi groaned. He let go of Aizawa's hair, used both palms to brace himself against the cabin wall, and let Aizawa go to work.

After a few more swirls over the tip, Aizawa pressed forward. He swallowed through his diminished gag reflex until his nose touched the soft bushy curls on Hizashi's pelvic bone. Hizashi groaned a bit louder this time and bit his lip to keep his quirk from coming out. He bit down so hard that he broke through the thin skin. A few droplets of blood fell on Aizawa's cheeks, and Aizawa looked up with glowing red eyes. He kept his eyes trained upwards, suppressing the quirk that must have made sex complicated for Hizashi.

Finally, Hizashi was grateful for the permission to moan freely as Aizawa deep throated his cock like a pro. He tried not to think about how many people had received this service before. He tried not to think about anything but the beautiful lips wrapped around his cock and tight throat constricting the head of his erection. Aizawa gagged and the waves of pressure made Hizashi buck deeper into Aizawa's throat.

"Fucking hell, sorry," gasped Hizashi as he pulled back to let Aizawa breathe and gag in peace.

"Don't be," murmured Aizawa as he went straight back to work at fitting Hizashi's cock into his throat and fucking his own mouth on the length. His tongue slipped forward to caress Hizashi's balls, and Hizashi lost sight of his proprieties. He took a fistful of black hair again and started grinding against Aizawa's face, searching for friction and climax. Aizawa's eyes rolled back as Hizashi skull fucked him breathless.

"oohhhHH FUCK," moaned Hizashi as his quirk activated without Aizawa's suppression. The perverse expletive sounded through the forest, scaring confused students and teachers alike across the valley. His hips shuddered against Aizawa's face, and Hizashi shot ropes of cum down Aizawa's throat. With his balls finally emptied, Hizashi pulled back and slumped to the ground in front of Aizawa. He had never had a blowjob like that in his entire life. No one had ever let him go that deep. He had never been able to forget his quirk before.

Hizashi stared at Aizawa in awe. No wonder half the staff tried to fuck him on a regular basis.

Aizawa took a few shaky breaths and coughed as oxygen returned to his blood stream. He hadn't gone down on anyone in a while, and he was pleasantly surprised by the result. He had assumed that Hizashi would be annoyingly shy, but those obnoxiously domineering leadership skills seemed to come in handy at a time like this.

"Do you want me to uh…?" asked Hizashi as he gestured awkwardly in the general direction of Aizawa's bulge. He realized that Aizawa hadn't gotten off and he didn't want to come off as a selfish lover their first time.

Aizawa shook his head as he stood up and brushed off his knees.

"You can return the favor next time," he said carelessly.

Hizashi grinned. So there would be a next time?

With that, Aizawa turned and left Hizashi without so much as a second glance. He was off to return to the training camp as if there hadn't been a cock down his throat just moments ago. Hizashi let out a deep, flustered breath. Hizashi fell back into the soft bed of pine needles as his stomach tingled with warmth and something like butterflies. He felt like a teenager again, but he pushed those feelings away.

He knew Aizawa was damaged and unreachable. He knew that this would end painfully, but Hizashi closed his eyes and basked in the sun, enjoying these moments while these moments were good. He would hold onto this peace and lock it away. If he did that, then maybe, just maybe…the end wouldn't hurt so badly.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Tenebrous

Adjective: shadowy and obscure, shut off from the light of day

"Get dinner and go to bed," barked Aizawa at his over worked and exhausted class.

"Yes sir," came a weak chorus of tired voices. The class then started to limp and shuffle away to fuel their bodies for whatever fresh hell would rain down upon them in the coming days.

Aizawa watched them go, feeling a sense of pride for his kids that he would never admit. They did well today and Aizawa couldn't really complain. He almost felt guilty about the next trial tomorrow evening that would pit 1-A and 1-B against each other…almost. That shred of guilt was demolished instantaneously when he saw his rival teacher sauntering over to him through the forest clearing. Vlad wore his characteristic sneer as he approached, and Aizawa fought against a characteristic roll of his eyes. They never got on well. If Aizawa had a shred of self-respect, he would never let that bastard touch him.

Luckily, that self-respect was non-existent.

"What the fuck, Aizawa," bellowed Vlad as he closed the distance between them rapidly.

"What is it now?" asked Aizawa impatiently. He was hungry and Vlad always had something to complain about.

"Your class hogged the training courses all day. What do you mean, _what now_?" seethed Vlad.

Aizawa scoffed. He wasn't a baby sitter. If Vlad was pissed off, he should reprimand the 1-A kids himself.

"If your class is too fucking shy to ask for a turn, then maybe they aren't cut out for this hero shit," said Aizawa bluntly.

"No – that's not – damn it Aizawa" sputtered Vlad, clearly frustrated based off of the vein bulging in his neck, "they're your students. You need to teach them respect."

"Like you've done with that copy cat quirk boy, Monoma?" said Aizawa sarcastically. That narcissistic child was a villain in the making if Aizawa had to put his money on any of the students here.

"You're one to talk with that violent brat, Bakugo, and those wayward wannabe vigilantes on the verge of getting expelled," said Vlad with a puffed chest.

Aizawa's temper spiked. Maybe he had thrown stones first, but no one insulted his students besides him.

"Go fuck yourself, Vlad," he cursed before he started walking back towards the mess hall. Aizawa knew he needed to leave before he did something regrettable.

"What? You can give it but you can't take it, Aizawa?" shouted Vlad with open arms, "Well let me tell you something – you can't act like a filthy, morally bankrupt whore and expect your students to turn out any better!"

That was the final straw after days of trading verbal blows and abuses.

Aizawa spun on his toes and marched back towards Vlad with a grimace that showed his entire row of bottom teeth. Aizawa shot his scarf forward to throw Vlad off balance. Shards of hardened blood ripped through the scarf. Aizawa regretted having not activated his quirk sooner, but his eyes already hurt after a long day.

Finally, the blood fell to the ground as Aizawa suppressed Vlad's quirk, but Vlad was still a beast of a man. Aizawa would have to bind him and end this quickly to avoid an all out physical brawl – one that he would surely lose – but the ripped fabric wasn't as responsive now.

Vlad's hands yanked at the fraying scarf as he barreled forward. He dodged a well-aimed jab at his throat, and grabbed at Aizawa's protruding collarbones. Using them for leverage, Vlad spun and threw Aizawa into the ground in an arc.

Aizawa kicked straight up into Vlad's stomach, lifting the heavy man off the ground through sheer velocity and strength. Bile shot out of Vlad's mouth and his eyes rolled back for only a moment before he grabbed Aizawa's ankle in a crushing grip and twisted.

"Fuck," cursed Aizawa as he arched and twisted to lessen the grinding pressure on his joints.

Before he knew it, Vlad was on top of him with his forearm pressing into Aizawa's trachea, and Vlad's feet hooked under Aizawa's open legs in a classic wrestler's hold. The two men stared at each other with burning hatred as they each struggled to catch their breath. Vlad slowly released the pressure against Aizawa's throat and Aizawa's eyes returned back to their regular, dull black.

Aizawa's gaze darted between Vlad's eyes, trying to read his expression past the obvious anger and frustration. With their bodies pressed so close, he was sure that their thoughts were headed in similar directions.

"If you wanted me on my back, you just had to ask," murmured Aizawa as tension eased out of his body and crooked smirk peeled across his lips.

Vlad clicked his tongue and his scowl deepened, but Aizawa could have sworn that a flush played on Vlad's cheeks in the darkness.

"It wasn't about that," said Vlad defensively, but he didn't move, and Aizawa was still trapped underneath his weighty muscle for better or for worse.

"It could be," said Aizawa.

And then their teeth were clashing and their lips were begging. The resentment and frustration could be forgotten, if only for a moment. Aizawa lifted his hips off the ground to help Vlad slide off his pants until the pants were only holding on around one wayward calf. Vlad lifted one of Aizawa's legs and hooked it over his shoulder. He spit in his hand and reached down.

"Ahh," gasped Aizawa as rough fingers pulled him open. He let his head fall back in the grass and tried to steady his breath. He hadn't been fucked since his meeting with Endeavor. Something sharp twanged on the right side of his entrance. He scrunched his brows and tried to ignore the pain that insisted on warning him that something was wrong. He didn't have time for his own body to betray him with that shit.

Aizawa breathed deep, centering himself on the stars above them. They were far away, and he joined them.

He heard a buckle – a zipper – a rustling of fabric.

Vlad started fucking him roughly without much warning – less of a gentleman than before, but Aizawa liked it still. He closed his eyes beneath the rough grunts and thrusts as his mind went blissfully blank. He could live a good life like this – well, maybe not a good one – but he could live a life like this all the same.

He barely heard someone else entering the clearing. Everyone else was supposed to be eating dinner in the mess hall.

"Come on, guys," groaned a loud, hoarse voice.

Both Aizawa and Vlad glanced over to see Hizashi carrying a towering stack of orange cones from the drills of the day. It was cute to see him so eager to help. Perhaps that was why Hizashi had always been class representative during their school days. He couldn't stop himself from doing good things that no one asked for.

"Can't you do this somewhere else – literally anywhere else?" asked Hizashi as he tried to balance the cones and decide how he wanted to move around the two men in the center of the path.

"Fuck off," grunted Vlad, his attention having left Hizashi long ago as he resumed pumping his hips languidly. The sound of Vlad's balls slapping against Aizawa's thighs suddenly seemed awkwardly loud and uncomfortable.

Aizawa flushed as he realized that he hadn't stopped staring at Hizashi, even as Vlad continued to fuck him into the dirt. He noted Hizashi's pained look, his red cheeks, and his deep-set grimace…his chest hurt but Aizawa couldn't pinpoint the reason why. He had been walked in on before, sometimes the voyeur ever joined, but this didn't feel like one of those times.

"Hey, let's take a break," muttered Aizawa as he looked away from Hizashi's sad expression. Aizawa blinked up blankly at Vlad, but only saw the far-off look of concentration and effort knotted between Vlad's brows.

"I'm close," rumbled Vlad as he continued to fuck Aizawa.

Aizawa rolled his eyes, sighed, and lolled back to stare at the stars again until Vlad finished. Less than a minute passed, but Hizashi was long gone. Vlad finally pulled out roughly, stood over Aizawa's spread-eagled body, and extended a hand to help Aizawa off the ground. Aizawa knocked his hand away and stood on his own.

"Sorry about…" said Vlad under his breath before he trailed off, feeling awkward and uneasy after their bodies parted.

"Don't be," said Aizawa as he dressed quickly, unfazed by what should have felt wrong, and disappeared into the forest to find his oldest friend.

Aizawa started to run after he was sure that Vlad couldn't see his urgency. It was embarrassing how much he cared about what Hizashi thought or felt, and he cursed himself for it. He checked the mess hall, but saw only students having fun without adult supervision. He checked the cabin, but found only Midnight with a disdainful frown.

"He's around back, Shouta," she said softly, "I don't think he wants to see you."

Aizawa groaned and ran his hands through his hair. Pine needles rained down around his shoulders. Of course Hizashi was a loud mouth that told everyone everything.

"Fuck…it's not like we're together, you know…I don't know why he's so fucking upset," cursed Aizawa, "god damn it."

"You invited him here didn't you?" asked Midnight pointedly, "why wouldn't he be hurt if you're off fucking another man?"

"But I'm always fucking other men," groaned Aizawa with new levels of exasperation for the evening.

Midnight rolled her eyes as she turned away and started to brush out her hair before bed.

"Everyone knows that. Literally everyone knows that…" she said, "but you know he likes you. Have a heart, Shouta."

Aizawa slammed the side of his fist into the wall and used his other hand to massage the tension from his temples.

"No I didn't fucking know that," he spat before slamming the cabin door behind him and stomping around back to find Hizashi. They weren't children. This nonsense about who likes who was bullshit. Aizawa hated being made to feel bad about his choices. He had half a mind to rip into Hizashi when he saw him – but that before he spotted the angelic figure lounging behind the cabin.

The tall, lean man glimmered golden in the pale moonlight. Hizashi was all long locks of loose blonde hair and beautifully tanned skin. A thick cloud of cigarette smoke blossomed forth from Hizashi's lips and obscured his sad green eyes. Aizawa lost the words he wanted to throw like daggers, and found something else to say instead.

"I thought you didn't smoke," said Aizawa softly as he eyed the opened carton of cigarettes that Hizashi must had retrieved from Aizawa's belongings. He knew the gift had been tied up in expectations, but Aizawa couldn't help but feel hurt that the gift had been rescinded.

"Thought I might try it out," said Hizashi with a deep cough, "see how the other half lives, see if it makes me give less of a shit about people too."

Aizawa winced. Those were damning words.

"It's not like that," said Aizawa, but he wasn't sure how to defend himself.

"Don't worry about it," said Hizashi as he dropped the half-finished cigarette and snuffed it out with his boot, "I didn't expect anything from you this week…I just…I just feel…stupid, I guess."

Aizawa frowned. He wasn't good at this.

"Vlad's an asshole. He doesn't matter," tried Aizawa. He really tried.

"Yeah, that's why it sucks," said Hizashi with a roll of his eyes. "Look, I know that we're not exclusive just because you sucked me off once – I just didn't expect it. So, you do you, I'll do me, yeah?"

Aizawa's teeth clenched against Hizashi's unnecessarily callous words. It wasn't like Hizashi to treat him like everyone else did – like he was trash, disposable, worthless – but hadn't he wanted Hizashi to treat him like this? Wasn't this what he had goaded Hizashi into from the very beginning?

Aizawa ran his hands through his hair and cursed under his breath while Hizashi watched.

"Hizashi…" started Aizawa. He rarely used Hizashi's first name, "I don't do relationships…"

"I know," said Hizashi softly.

"But…I just…I don't know," stumbled Aizawa as he tried to figure out what he wanted. Maybe he wanted Hizashi. "Okay, listen…I won't fuck anyone else while we're here, okay?"

Hizashi snorted. It was almost funny. How hard was it for Aizawa to keep it in his pants that he thought this was an endearing promise? But still, Hizashi felt something like butterflies again – those goddamn, god-awful butterflies.

"Stay here," said Aizawa suddenly as he raced back into the cabin.

Hizashi waited, feeling a bit nervous, not sure what he could possibly be waiting for. He heard grunting, dragging, huffing, and puffing around the corner for a good thirty seconds. Hizashi waited on edge until he saw that Aizawa was dragging one of the cabin beds through the detritus on the ground. Hizashi actually laughed this time – a booming sound – and stepped forward to help Aizawa pull the heavy metal frame behind the cabin.

"How romantic," murmured Hizashi, half teasing, half appreciative.

"Shut up," muttered Aizawa as he unzipped his sleeping bad to make a blanket instead, "stay the night with me?"

Hizashi stared at Aizawa's grumpy, flustered face, and laughed again.

"Sure," he said. He would love to.

Hizashi scooted into the too tight space, forced to spoon Aizawa in the single sized bed. His heartbeat was painfully fast as he felt Aizawa settle back into his chest and hips like a nuzzling kitten. Aizawa smelled like earth and sex. Hizashi thought he detected the soft scent of dry shampoo as well. This was a lazy, unhygienic man, but Hizashi adored him anyways. Time passed slowly under the stars and silence, but the warm body in his arms made Hizashi feel things he hadn't felt in a long time. Slowly, shamefully, his erection grew and he tried to rearrange his hips to avoid pressing against Aizawa's tailbone. The movement had the opposite effect, and Hizashi's cock twitched against Aizawa unintentionally.

"Sorry, I uh, it's just been awhile, but I don't want – " stuttered Hizashi.

Aizawa chuckled, a rare sound from the grumpy man.

"Are you sure you don't want to?" asked Aizawa playfully as Hizashi's body betrayed him.

"Well, not after Vlad…" muttered Hizashi under his breath as his cheeks flushed. He was truly content to cuddle and flirt.

"Ah, yeah," said Aizawa slowly as he moved forward respectfully to give Hizashi space to calm his body, "some people don't like sloppy seconds."

"You're not _sloppy seconds_, Shouta," said Hizashi with sharp distaste before his tone softened. "It's just that…back there, it seemed like you didn't want…"

"Didn't want what?" bit Aizawa.

"Never mind. I just thought you wouldn't be in the mood," finished Hizashi awkwardly.

Aizawa felt his blood pressure throb in his clenched teeth. He knew what Hizashi was insinuating. He didn't need a judgmental chaperone rating the levels of dubious consent in his sex life.

"I'm always in the mood," muttered Aizawa with a tinge of resentment towards Vlad for ruining his evening with Hizashi, "just let me know when the feeling is mutual…"

"Yeah," muttered Hizashi, noncommittal.

Aizawa took a deep breath and exhaled as he tried to salvage this interaction. He was getting too sleepy to care.

"It's not like you'll break me," said Aizawa softly into an oncoming yawn.

That was probably true, thought Hizashi, because it was hard to break something that was already so irreparably broken. He wondered to himself, when had everything changed? They grew apart after graduation. They were both focused on their work as brand new pro-heroes. Hizashi was getting popular in the media, but Aizawa had fallen into the shadows. It made sense with Aizawa's personality. He always hated being in the spotlight, but that didn't explain the dramatic shift in demeanor.

Hizashi sucked his teeth involuntarily as his memories evaded retrieval.

Hizashi sighed. He gave up on trying to solve that puzzle for the moment, and started drawing circles on Aizawa's back until the tension of the day released. He hadn't done this for Aizawa since the dorms during exams. Hizashi smiled lightly as Aizawa's muscles melted under his ministrations. At least some things hadn't changed.

But almost everything else had.

"You weren't like this when we were younger," muttered Yamada Hizashi as he brushed his fingers through Aizawa's tangled black hair. He remembered the stubborn teenager from their high school days that had once possessed at least a shred of self-respect.

"Like what?" asked Aizawa sleepily.

_Dead inside. Broken. Available for public use._

Hizashi didn't answer, and Aizawa let the silence stretch on before he offered a hint of the darkness inside of him like a sacrificial lamb. He didn't want to let Hizashi in…he didn't want to let anyone in…but here they were under the light of the moon and stars, and Aizawa needed human intimacy so desperately that the words spilled out seemingly of their own accord.

"Things happen to people and then those people change," said Aizawa simply before sleep took him. His breathing became slow and shallow, but Hizashi was left wide-awake, wondering what those words meant, and telling himself not to fall for this godforsaken mess of a man.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: Repatriate**

_Noun: a person who has returned to their place of origin_

_Verb: to send someone back to their homeland against their will_

Aizawa woke up warm and nestled in the crook of Hizashi's torso. The soft morning light broke through his thick black hair, and caught on a few golden strands of Hizashi's stray locks. Aizawa tried to twist to see Hizashi's sleeping face, but Hizashi's rigid fingers were interlocked over Aizawa's bellybutton. His stomach grumbled against the pressure – he had gone to bed without dinner. Slowly, he pried Hizashi's determined fingers from around his waist. He sat up and nudged Hizashi's shoulder until lime-green irises peaked through pale lashes.

"This is how you wake someone up properly," whispered Aizawa as Hizashi blinked.

"Then you should wake me up every morning," mumbled Hizashi with a lazy smile.

Hizashi reached out to find purchase on Aizawa's sweatpants – a lazy attempt to pull him back into bed.

An idyllic future flashed through Aizawa's mind: quiet and cuddly mornings, real food for every meal, a person to share his life with, a person that would take care of him. Aizawa's heart skipped a beat and he shook his head to stop the whimsical montage. He stood suddenly and Hizashi's hand fell away with a bounce on the hard mattress.

"I'll meet you in the mess hall," said Aizawa quickly as he turned to leave.

"Wait for me!" called Hizashi. He rolled out of bed still half wrapped in Aizawa's old sleeping bag.

"Hurry up then," muttered Aizawa with his back turned. His cheeks were pink as he considered the fact that his walks of shame had only ever been lonely ordeals before now.

Through uneasy silence, they walked the forest paths to breakfast with their shoulders brushing lightly every so often. Dreary students passed them by unawares. Fellow UA colleagues and Pussycat Heroes eyed the odd pair with knowing looks and bemused smirks. Hizashi filled his plate with oyakadon, his sunny side up eggs already breaking over his white rice. Aizawa tried to get away with only a cup of hot miso soup, but Hizashi filled Aizawa's tray with nutritious proteins and fruits anyways.

"Trust me, you'll have a lot more energy," insisted Hizashi as they took their seats at the teacher's table at the head of the hall.

Aizawa hummed in displeasure and drank his miso soup, but he took a few bites of fruit every now and then.

Small talk droned on and Aizawa watched Hizashi through his peripheral vision as the man made conversational laps around the table of teachers. Aizawa was already tired of social interactions for the day, but Hizashi cared too much about too many people. Aizawa had zoned out long ago and his eyelids felt heavy as he entered a lucid state. Aizawa could have fallen asleep over breakfast, but he heard his name come out of Vlad's mouth and the sweet promise of sleep eluded him.

"What?" asked Aizawa in a deadpan tone.

Vlad cleared his throat to repeat himself.

"We were talking after you dragged that bed outside last night," said Vlad with a smirk, "After neither of you came back."

Aizawa wouldn't have answered, it wasn't as bad as he thought it would be, but he heard Hizashi huff and felt him tense.

"So what?" said Hizashi with a guarded tone.

"So, we all have a bet going if you would care to settle the score," said Vlad with a crooked grin and a wave of his hand to implicate their fellow peers.

"About what?" asked Hizashi. A grimace cut through his jaw.

Vlad used one finger to draw an imaginary line back and forth between Hizashi and Aizawa.

"Come on, Yamada – we've all been there before – man up," said Vlad with a bemused snort.

Hizashi's face hardened until he seemed to be as still as stone.

Aizawa looked around the table and realized that every person there had fucked him at one point or another except for Midnight and Hizashi – unless of course the blowjob behind the cabin counted.

"Come on," jeered Vlad.

Aizawa could feel the table vibrate with bass tones emanating from a rumble in Hizashi's chest. Aizawa put his hand on Hizashi's knee under the table and squeezed to calm him down. He didn't want to use his quirk to break up a pro-hero fight this early in the morning.

"Look, there's no shame in a quick fuck," laughed Vlad with his hands raised in an attempt at innocence, "Am I right, Aizawa?"

"Disgusting," muttered Hizashi through clenched teeth.

Aizawa sighed.

He would end this ridiculous pissing contest himself.

"Welcome to the club, Hizashi," said Aizawa simply as he stood, "you're in good company."

Vlad's laughter boomed through the cafeteria. Aizawa was already walking away as Vlad started telling his compatriots to pay up. With a clatter of utensils and dishes, Hizashi quickly disentangled himself from the table in order to chase after Aizawa.

Hizashi ran out of the mess hall and down the forest path. He saw Aizawa stomping towards the cabin. Hizashi quickened his pace until he could grab Aizawa's shoulder to spin him around. Aizawa swirled with a halo of black hair fanning out around him and blood red irises on high alert. His quirk faded when he saw that it was only Hizashi.

"What is it?" asked Aizawa blankly as his eyes returned to normal.

"Are you okay?" asked Hizashi as he caught his breath.

"I don't know why I wouldn't be," replied Aizawa with an exasperated sigh. He was tired and Hizashi definitely cared too much. Aizawa cracked his neck and turned to leave.

"Come on, Aizawa, talk to me," said Hizashi with desperation.

Aizawa sighed and stopped. He ran his fingers through his hair and caught his knuckles in tangles.

"You don't need to put up with their shit," said Hizashi.

"You don't need to stick you neck out for me, Hizashi," sighed Aizawa, "I don't care what they say about me."

"Oh yeah? And what about how they treat you?" asked Hizashi. His visceral memories of the night prior invaded his mind – the murmur of Aizawa's soft request drowned out by the repetitive onslaught of skin slapping against skin echoing in his ears – Aizawa's dead eyes staring upwards while Vlad continued to fuck him anyways – this image had burned into his retina. The regret of not interfering had eaten through his internal organs.

Then Aizawa started to laugh - a dark sound that made Hizashi's bones cold in the summer heat.

"I like how they treat me," murmured Aizawa with half-lidded eyes, "if you're jealous – I offered you an open invitation."

Hizashi groaned and rubbed at his temples.

"It's not about being jealous, Aizawa," said Hizashi, a lie, perhaps, "It's about you being safe. It's about people respecting your boundaries."

Aizawa's eyebrows rose ever so slightly. The corners of his lips twitched and a snicker escaped. He tilted his head as his smile widened like a Cheshire cat.

"What boundaries?" asked Aizawa softly as he took a few steps towards Hizashi.

"Damn it, Aizawa," cursed Hizashi as he stepped back in turn, "Can't you see how fucked up that is?"

Rejected, Aizawa's alluring smile fell as he scoffed and looked away without responding.

"You're going to sleep with him again aren't you?" asked Hizashi quietly, "even after last night…"

Aizawa shrugged as his eyes fell further away. His teeth hurt as his jaw clenched. His fists were balled in his pockets and his fingernails dug into his palm.

"Answer me," pleaded Hizashi. Deep down, he didn't want to know.

Aizawa took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose slowly. Vlad was an overly aggressive asshole. He wasn't the best lay, but he was always available. Sometimes he didn't listen – sometimes he didn't stop – but he was always there when Aizawa was lonely. Vlad was a reliable constant in Aizawa's life. There was no chance of Aizawa giving that up, and so he tch'ed and rolled his eyes.

"Probably will," he muttered and silence fell between the two men.

Hizashi nodded and sucked his teeth as he looked away and tried to process Aizawa's blatant disregard of anything resembling dignity.

"That's really what you want?" asked Hizashi softly, "for men to treat you like shit in public and even worse in private?"

Aizawa rolled his eyes – but he couldn't deny those accusations.

"Whatever, Hizashi. If you don't approve of my life choices, you don't have to stick around to watch," grumbled Aizawa. He was done with this conversation.

Aizawa started to turn away, but Hizashi lunged forward to grab his wrist. Hizashi pulled the man back towards him, and their bodies collided painfully. He wrapped one arm around Aizawa's waist to hold him there. Hizashi didn't know what drove him to this point – all he knew was that it hurt every time Aizawa walked away. It hurt every time he saw Aizawa with another man. It hurt to see his childhood friend devolve into something base and unrecognizable. Everyday he felt Aizawa slipping through his fingers.

"Please don't push me away again," murmured Hizashi quietly as he searched Aizawa's face for answers to an unasked question. His green eyes flickered between Aizawa's emotionless eyes. The intensity made Aizawa visibly uncomfortable as he blinked and tried to turn his head, but Hizashi held Aizawa's chin in place before the man could look away.

Aizawa opened his mouth to reply, but impending footsteps and rambunctious voices carried down the forest path and shattered the stillness of the moment.

"Round two?" called Vlad's booming voice, followed by a chorus of murmurs and hushed laughter.

Aizawa and Hizashi jumped away from each other as if an electric current had shocked them both. The cohort of teachers and rangers were approaching quickly around the bend. Aizawa frowned as he watched Hizashi's sheepish body language and apologetic stammering in front of their colleagues. At least it gave Aizawa a chance to escape down the path and bury those sickly sweet feelings that had no proper place in his heart.

* * *

Aizawa threw himself into summer camp training. The day wore on as he took out his frustration on slackers and anyone who dared to question his ruthless methods. Soon, night fell as the students trained to exhaustion. A few kids started towards the cabins for much needed reprieve, but Aizawa's voice stopped them dead in their tracks.

"Stop," barked Aizawa. "Come back."

His students obeyed with wary expressions.

Vlad stood by Aizawa's side with crossed arms and an angry expression. The tension between the two men was coming off in waves, and the students knew they would bare the burden of this ongoing feud. The men had traded insults all day, but at the very least they had managed to avoid an all out brawl for the sake of a united front.

"Listen up 1-A! Tonight, class 1-B will test your courage as you try to make it through this forest in pairs," said Aizawa as his class gathered. "1-B students are already hiding, and they will attempt to scare you with their quirks. You will also have the chance to scare 1-B when the roles reverse next round. Collect your name cards to prove you made it through the forest, or run back here, knowing that you will face my wrath and disappointment," rumbled Aizawa with glowing red eyes and swirling hair.

The students nodded vigorously, fearing their homeroom teacher more than anything that could be waiting for them in those dark and ominous woods. And so, eager to appease their sensei, the 1-A class disappeared in pairs to face their rival class. Eventually, Aizawa and Vlad were left alone once more in the same clearing as the night before.

"Don't you think you're over doing it? It's just a game," said Vlad

"Is it now?" asked Aizawa with a shrug. Beating class 1-B and watching Vlad's ego suffer was one of Aizawa's few simple pleasures in life.

"Look, Aizawa," started Vlad as the silence ate away as their relationship, "about the other night…"

"Forget about it," said Aizawa softly as he shoved his hands in his pockets and headed back to the cabins where a few students were held back on academic probation and unable to participate in tonight's games. Vlad followed silently, struggling to find the humility to offer anything that resembled an apology.

Then, halfway back to the cabins, an urgent voice sounded in Aizawa and Vlad's minds.

"_Attention UA teachers and students!"_

The sheer volume made the men wince and hold their ears in vain.

"_Villains are attacking the camp, I repeat, villains are attack the camp," _shouted Mandalay through her telepathic communication quirk.

"What the hell?" roared Vlad.

"Shut up," hissed Aizawa as he tried to listen while his eyes darted back and forth in the dark woods. Then he spotted flickering light, just over the horizon; Bright blue flames had overtaken the woods. The smell of chemical warfare tinged the air. The pro-heroes reflexively covered their mouths.

Aizawa heard a twig snap.

"ON YOUR LEFT," bellowed Vlad from behind.

Aizawa had only a split second to turn his head and activate his quirk blindly, but he was too late and an explosion of hot blue flames sent him careening backwards. He tumbled and skidded across the dirt. He pushed up on his elbows and rolled to dodge another blast of raging blue fire. Exposed roots and rocks tore at Aizawa's skin, but he felt no pain as adrenaline pumped in his veins.

"Excellent dodge, Eraserhead," called a bemused voice, "as one would expect from a pro-hero of your caliber."

The smoke cleared slowly, and Aizawa finally spotted the arsonist who had set the woods ablaze. A tall, black-haired villain with scarred skin and piercings across his face - an arrogantly tilted chin and a thin slit of a smile. He had seen this man on wanted ads across the city: a man who called himself Dabi.

"You have no purpose here," bellowed Aizawa as he ran forward, activated his quirk, and shot his scarf forward.

The lunge was cut short. He felt something sharp pierce the soft spot between the vertebrae of his neck. His body slowed and betrayed him as he stumbled to the side.

"What the fuck," slurred Aizawa as his quirk stopped working and his neck started to go numb.

"Don't fight it," said Dabi easily.

"Vlad," said Aizawa weakly as forced his voice out of his numb vocal chords.

Aizawa struggled to shift his eyes to his periphery, as he lost the ability to turn his head. To his horror, Vlad was collapsed with three tranquilizer darts sticking out of his massive shoulder blade. They had been defeated so quickly. The kids didn't stand a chance. Aizawa would have hyperventilated if the sedative weren't wreaking havoc on his respiratory system.

"Don't hurt our students…" choked Aizawa, "they're just kids…" he fell face first in the dirt and saw black boots enter his diminishing field of vision. "Please…"

"Too late," said the voice above him.

And then, the world faded away.

* * *

"Get the fuck up," hissed a voice from outside the darkness of Aizawa's eyelids. It sounded like Vlad.

Aizawa didn't want to get up. His neck was stiff and his head hurt. His joints ached and his tongue felt like sand paper. He wanted a few more minutes – just a few.

"Wake up, Aizawa," said the angry voice a little louder, followed by shushing sounds.

He didn't like it here. He didn't want to wake up. The flickering lights were too bright. The floor was too hard. The air was too hot – but some deep primal instinct screamed at him to be alert – to survive.

"Aizawa!"

He blinked against the stinging light and his eyes started to water as his pupils adjusted. The first thing Aizawa saw was cracked grey concrete flooring. He was face down and his cheek was flat against the damp surface.

"Get up!"

"He's awake, stop yelling at him," hissed a second voice – Hizashi's – who continued on quietly, "Aizawa, can you hear me?"

"Yeah," grumbled Aizawa.

"Finally," grunted Vlad.

Aizawa tried to recall his most recent memories: there had been fire, darkness, and pain. He tried to move his arms to lift himself up off the ground, but his forearms were bound tightly behind his back. The cold metal bit into his flesh and cut off the circulation to his hands.

"Where are we?" asked Aizawa gruffly. He took deep breaths as he willed his muscles to work – but it was no use. The tranquilizer in the dart hadn't left his system yet.

"We were all knocked out before being transported here. There are no identifiable features – no way to tell where they've brought us," said Hizashi – a hint of a slur in his constantans.

Aizawa groaned as he tried to examine his peripheral vision. A few feet away, he could see a transparent barrier rising up out of the floor. Through that barrier, Aizawa could see Vlad's toned legs and mutilated hands.

"Your gauntlets," groaned Aizawa.

Vlad just grunted in affirmation. His support gear that allowed him to freely access his own blood flow had been ripped from the veins of his hands. The skin was frayed and the blood had only just started to coagulate.

"They took my speaker too," said Hizashi from behind Aizawa, "not that I would be able to use it anyways."

"I don't understand…" muttered Aizawa. His limbs started to twitch and tingle as the tranquilizer continued to wear off. As sensation returned, Aizawa felt the air against his exposed neck and realized that his scarf had been taken as well.

"Our quirks aren't working," said Vlad sullenly.

Panic and adrenaline shot through Aizawa veins, and it gave him the strength to crunch his abdominal muscles and start to sit up.

"That's impossible," muttered Aizawa.

That type of technology didn't exist – couldn't exist.

Spurred on by fear stabbing into his diaphragm, Aizawa groaned and moved into an upright position. Finally, he could see that they were each individually held in tall rectangular prisons of a thick, clear, plastic material – two transparent barriers separated the prison into the three cells to hold the three men. Each cell had a plastic door with a heavy metal latch on the outside. Each cell had an air vent with a duct running out into the darkness. Outside of their plastic prisons, Aizawa couldn't see more than a few feet in any direction past the halo of flickering yellow lights.

He felt like a lab rat. His heart started to race and his breathing became fast and shallow.

"It's okay, Aizawa," said Hizashi's voice. It was soothing and steady, as if nothing could possibly go wrong.

Aizawa turned with effort to face Hizashi, and his blood ran cold when he saw his old friend. A deep gouge trailed from his jaw, to his collarbone, to his shoulder. Aizawa could see yellow fat, red muscle, and white bone across Hizashi's chest. Blood was bubbling weakly from the deepest parts of the wound, and yet somehow, he hadn't bled out yet. Pine, soil, and rock contaminated the cleaved flesh, and Aizawa thought he might throw up as his stomach churned instinctively – trying to rid his body of this sight – telling him to run fast and far away.

"Hizashi," whispered Aizawa with wide saucer eyes.

Hizashi tried to smile weakly – he tried to be brave.

"They wouldn't have brought me here if they were going to let me die," said Hizashi with half-lidded eyes, "I'll be okay…"

Aizawa's heart started racing. Hizashi needed immediate medical attention. Willing his body to move, Aizawa fell and rolled until he was within striking distance of the cell door. He kicked and the metal latch reverberated through the dark chamber of their prison.

"HELP," bellowed Aizawa.

He kicked again and the echoes thundered through the chamber.

"HE NEEDS HELP."

Another kick.

"ANYBODY," he shouted.

He slammed his foot into the door until his heel started to bruise, but Aizawa continued on relentlessly. Then, just when he was sure that no one would come, a slit of light blossomed in the upper corner of their chamber. The light flooded the room as a door opened – showing a winding staircase that led down to their holding cells in an otherwise barren room. A black silhouette passed through the light and footsteps echoed down the stairs until their warden appeared in the flickering light.

"You called?" asked Shigaraki with a smile so large that his lips were cracking under the strain.

Aizawa didn't have time to be frightened. He didn't have time to relive his brutal beating at the hands of the Nomu as this man-child watched and laughed. Staring at this monster across the barrier, Aizawa felt his cheekbone ache where Shigaraki had ordered that beast to shatter his face. He could almost feel his arms being bent back again at odd angles until they snapped.

He didn't have time for this – Hizashi didn't have time.

"Please," croaked Aizawa as he struggled to come to his knees.

Shigaraki watched Aizawa like a captive animal in a cage. He tilted his head curiously as if waiting for Aizawa to perform some entertaining trick.

"You care about this man?" asked Shigaraki with a gleeful lilt in his voice.

Aizawa's brow furrowed. He felt his racing heart against his ribs. Blood pounded in his ears. The wrong answer meant life or death. Either he said no – making Hizashi disposable, or he said yes – making Hizashi a pawn in this mad man's games.

"I do," said Aizawa softly – trying to read the wild expression above him.

"And this one?" asked Shigaraki with a throw of his chin in Vlad's direction.

Aizawa hesitated again. There were no good choices. Aizawa weighed his decision carefully as he closed his eyes and tried to play through the possible scenarios of each path.

"I do," said Aizawa with a sharp exhale of finality.

Shigaraki laughed and brushed his icy blue hair out of his eyes as if relieved.

"Good," he said gleefully, "we watched you for quite some time, trying to figure out which other players would motivate you the most."

Aizawa stared in horror as he watched Shigaraki's expression transform. The light-hearted glee fell into blood-thirst and shadowed eyes. His smile widened and cracked until the thin skin tore and red droplets welled up in the corners of his mouth.

"If you play the game – if you don't break any rules – I won't kill your teammates," said Shigaraki, "Do you understand?"

Aizawa nodded silently. He would do anything to save Hizashi.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" spat Vlad from the neighboring cell.

Shigaraki chuckled as he unlatched the metal bar of Aizawa's cell.

"Haven't you figured it out yet, Eraser?"

Shigaraki let the door swing wide open as he stepped inside – taunting Aizawa in his weakened and quirkless state – offering an impossible escape.

"Haven't you told your friends?"

Shigaraki rummaged in his baggy pockets and withdrew a package with a red cross. The medical supplies were Aizawa's added incentive to comply.

"That this is all for you?"

Shigaraki's dry, bony hand shot forward and grabbed a fistful of Aizawa's knotted black hair. He pulled harshly upwards, forcing Aizawa to scramble to his feet on numb and unsteady legs.

"Don't touch him," pleaded Hizashi under his breath.

Shigaraki just laughed as he dragged Aizawa forward by the hair and threw him into Hizashi's cell. Aizawa landed with a crack of his kneecaps and elbows on concrete. Shigaraki followed suit and knelt behind Aizawa's collapsed form.

"I suppose you'll need your hands to stitch your friend back together again," murmured Shigaraki as he unlocked the cuffs that bound Aizawa's forearms.

Blood rushed back into Aizawa's hands. His fists clenched and for a moment, he considered punching Shigaraki in the throat and making a break for it – but he would never be able to carry Hizashi in this condition and Vlad was still locked away. He was sure that there were more villains on the other side of that door at the top of the staircase, and their quirks weren't working. They didn't stand a chance, but the heroic impulse in his gut told him to try – to fight – to survive.

"Is this the scar we gave you?" asked Shigaraki quietly. A thin, gentle finger brushed across the scar tissue under Aizawa's eye.

Aizawa's blood pressure spiked as primal instinct took over. Aizawa swung his elbow towards Shigaraki's trachea, but his movements were still too slow. Aizawa's attack was blocked easily with a palm strike to his bicep.

Going on the offensive, Shigaraki scowled and grabbed the back of Aizawa's neck to slam Aizawa's face into the concrete. An jolt of pain shot through Aizawa's barely healed cheekbone.

"Stop," begged Hizashi softly through a hazy state of fever and blood loss. He tried to move, to help.

"I told you to play the game," hissed Shigaraki in Aizawa's ear.

The putrid scent of decay clung to Aizawa's nostrils. Searing pain spread through his neck under Shigaraki's hands as cracks split over Aizawa's peeling skin. "I was going to give these medical supplies to you as a symbol of good faith, but now I want you to earn it."

Dark red cracks spread across Aizawa's jaw from the hold on the back of his neck, and he groaned as the pain overcame his senses. Blood dripped into his mouth and eyes – he hardly noticed as Shigaraki pulled his sweatpants down over the rise of his hips, leaving his bare skin exposed to the sweltering heat and the eerie gaze of the man behind him.

"I've heard rumors about you, Eraser," whispered Shigaraki as he released his hold on Aizawa's neck and gathered a fistful of hair instead. He pressed his clothed groin against Aizawa bare ass and rolled his hips lazily – a suggestion – a promise – a threat.

Aizawa closed his eyes as he felt the twitching and growing heat in Shigaraki's pants as the man ground his hips forward continuously.

"Don't do this," shouted Vlad – his eyes wide and wild as he strained against his restraints across the room.

Hizashi's breathing became erratic as he watched the scene unfold just barely out of reach. He begged and pleaded and slurred as he fought to retain consciousness. He needed to protect his friend.

"Don't touch him," groaned Hizashi as he tried to reach out with the last of his strength. He whined in pain as his torn flesh grated against fabric and debris – but it hardly mattered – he was so close. He could almost reach out and touch them – he could help, but his tunnel vision tightened into a pinprick of reality, "don't touch him…"

Shigaraki only chuckled while his eyes stayed trained on Aizawa's subjugated form.

"I'm just playing," murmured Shigaraki.

"This isn't a game, you crazy bastard!" roared Vlad.

"Isn't it though? Just like any choose-your-own-adventure RPG," murmured Shigaraki as the sound of his zipper cut through the silence of the room, "actions have consequences, hero."

Aizawa braced himself and clenched his teeth. He tried to steady his breath. He tried to imagine that he were anywhere else: his favorite café down the block from UA, his childhood summer home on the coast, the break room where he shared lunch with his oldest friend – his friend that was about to witness this act of violence.

"Please don't look," breathed Aizawa as he felt Shigaraki's dry cock pressing against his ass.

Shigaraki grabbed at the skin of one cheek. He pressed his fingers into the flesh and activated his quirk. Aizawa gasped and bucked forward as his skin disintegrated rapidly and bloody fissures ran across his skin until one jagged line tore through his entrance. Aizawa bit his lips, stifling screams that begged to come out. Finally, Shigaraki let go and Aizawa was permitted to collapse. Aizawa struggled to breath through the pain, but it only made him lightheaded and woozy.

Shigaraki lifted Aizawa's hips again – glistening red and wet with blood – and kicked Aizawa's legs open at awkward angles. He dragged his thumbnail against the open wound on Aizawa's hip. Aizawa tensed, and Shigaraki snapped his hips forward through Aizawa's torn entrance.

Aizawa finally screamed as his fragile, torn membranes split further under Shigaraki's assault.

"Aizawa," mumbled Hizashi as he faded away.

Vlad turned away in helpless silence and as he tried to cover his ears with his shoulders. He started to throw up.

The sounds of whimpers, dry heaves, laughter, and squelching flesh filled the dark room until Aizawa couldn't take it anymore.

"Please stop," begged Aizawa as he felt his sanity slipping. He didn't like to beg. He didn't like to be weak, "please…please…"

Shigaraki just laughed and thrust into him without a care in the world.

"I'll stop when I'm done," grunted Shigaraki through the effort of holding Aizawa's hips up to meet his thrusts.

Aizawa clawed at his own forehead and cheeks with his dirty fingernails as he tried to withstand the agony of his massacred flesh. He thought he might die – he wanted to die.

"Please…" cried Aizawa as he dragged his nails over his face – trying to exchange one pain for another.

"Fine, fine," groaned Shigaraki.

Shigaraki pulled out, took his cock slicked red with blood in his fist, and pumped until he came over Aizawa's bloody skin with a sigh of relief. The semen burned his open wounds, but Aizawa finally breathed as his body found reprieve.

Shigaraki released his bruising hold on Aizawa's hips, and Aizawa slumped to the ground in a shaking, silent heap. Shigaraki stood, zipped his pants, and cracked his red knuckles with an unbothered smile. He dropped the medical supplies on the ground, but Aizawa didn't move.

"Go on, healer," said Shigaraki as he kicked the bag towards Aizawa's trembling hands, "you earned it."

Slowly, Aizawa reached out blindly to grasp for the bag of lifesaving supplies. His fingers found purchase and his knuckles turned white as he pulled the hard-won prize to his chest.

"Regain your strength, hero," said Shigaraki as he locked the cell door on his way out, "and try not to bleed too much – we're on a tight production schedule."

The metal latch fell with a clang, and Shigaraki left with a bounce in his step.

"Aizawa," called Vlad from across the room, "Aizawa, are you okay?"

Aizawa didn't answer. He was doing his best to sit up as he clutched the medical supplies to his chest like a lifeline.

"Aizawa…" called Vlad a little bit softer this time – something gentle breaking his gruff tones, "talk to me…what do they want from you…"

"Nothing…and I'm fine," grunted Aizawa as he pulled himself another foot closer to Hizashi – the man had lost consciousness some time ago, and Aizawa couldn't see a rise and fall in his chest anymore.

"You're not," croaked Vlad as he spat bile from his lips and his stomach threatened to empty once more.

"I am," said Aizawa insistently.

Aizawa used two shaking fingers to find a weak pulse in Hizashi's neck, and Aizawa released the breath he had been holding. Hizashi was alive, but just barely.

"I'm fine," he swore into the heavy silence, "I'm fine."

**(A/N: A quick and wayward downward spiral - forgive me. But thank you for the reviews so far! They mean the world to me.)**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: Dance with the Devil

Aizawa's eyes flickered from Hizashi's mutilated skin to the medical supplies spilled out onto the floor. There were brow tweezers, embroidery needles, a spool of thread, old crunchy gauze in an opened packet, and a sample size tube of Neosporin. It was a cruel joke at best. Air caught in Aizawa's throat. His chest tightened until he was sure he couldn't breathe. Aizawa clutched at his shirt collar that felt too tight around his neck.

"This is barbaric," said Aizawa as struggled to take a satisfying breath.

Aizawa picked up a rusted needle. It was an infection waiting to happen.

"I'll kill him if I use this shit," muttered Aizawa as he started to tremble. The needle slipped from his shaking fingers.

"You need to try," said Vlad, "you're his best shot at survival."

"I don't know what I'm doing," said Aizawa desperately.

"This is why you pay attention in first aide courses," said Vlad sternly, "now take the tweezers and debride the wound."

It was tedious work, but Aizawa slowly collected a pile of pine needles, pebbles, and necrotic flesh. He was grateful that Hizashi was unconscious. Otherwise the man would probably be screaming as Aizawa dug and sifted through bloody chunks of skin, fat, and muscle.

"I got as much as I could," said Aizawa, but what he truly needed was a saline irrigation.

"No disinfectant?" asked Vlad, and Aizawa shook his head sullenly. Vlad exhaled sharply and said, "keep going – we just have to do our best."

Vlad continued to provide instruction from across the room. It took a few tries to thread the needle with the tremors in his fingers, but Aizawa finally pulled the thread through the eye of the needle. Aizawa took a deep breath as he lined up the needle at the base of the wound. He clenched his teeth and sank the needle into the skin. Aizawa gagged when he saw the needle come out the other side. Bile surged up his throat, but he swallowed and kept breathing through his burning nostrils. He slipped the needle under and up through the adjacent severed edge and tied off the first suture with a triple knot. He repeated this process for what felt like an eternity.

Aizawa wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm. The sutures were amateur and ugly. He was sure they would leave an unsightly scar. When the entire length of the gash had been stitched back together, the bleeding finally slowed. Aizawa applied the ointment and bandages as instructed by Vlad.

"Do you think he'll make it?" muttered Aizawa as he finally sat back and let feeling return to his tingling legs.

"He'll survive the night at the very least," said Vlad with a gruff sigh. He was finally able to sit down after overseeing the process for half an hour.

Aizawa just nodded, and he closed his eyes. He didn't want to think about what awaited them throughout their imprisonment. He didn't want to think about the possibility that Hizashi might not wake up again – or that complications might arise due to the unsanitary conditions.

Vlad watched Aizawa awkwardly through a long stretch of silence. Now that Hizashi was stable – Vlad tried to address the act of violence he had witnessed in these very cells less than an hour ago. Aizawa had been thrown to the floor and raped a mere ten feet away from Vlad, but Aizawa acted as if nothing had happened. If Vlad hadn't been able to see the blood streaking across Aizawa's face, he would have doubted that his memories had even happened. Aizawa had regained composure almost instantly as if waking from a bad dream – and ever since he was as calm and as expressionless as always. If he felt even the slightest bit of trauma, Vlad would never be able to tell.

"Aizawa…" started Vlad, but Aizawa didn't answer, "you could use the bandages and ointment on yourself, too, you know…if you need it."

Vlad heard the click of teeth that exposed Aizawa's immediate impatience with the topic.

"I don't," said Aizawa evenly with his eyes still closed.

"If you want to talk – "

"I don't."

"Aizawa – "

"No shame in a quick fuck, right Vlad?" said Aizawa in neutral tones. He sank deeper against the plastic wall, crossed his arms, and tried to find a comfortable position to fall asleep.

"Whatever," grunted Vlad. He decisively ignored the passive aggressive callback to his words from breakfast earlier that day. Vlad turned his back to Aizawa and rolled over on to his side. He didn't have the energy to deal with Aizawa's surly remarks. Years of experience had taught Vlad that caring about this man would only cause him pain, and yet he kept coming back for more.

"I was just trying to help," muttered Vlad.

"I don't need your help," said Aizawa.

And that was that. There were no more words exchanged through the uncomfortably tense atmosphere, and time passed slowly in the silence and heat. It could have been hours, but there was no way to tell.

Then, just as Aizawa had begun to fade in and out of sleep, the door at the top of the steps opened and two silhouettes passed through the blinding rectangle of white light.

"Stain never mentioned anything about taking prisoners," said one voice descending into the darkness.

"Stain never mentioned a lot of shit," said another.

A billowing cloud of smoke preceded the visitors. Aizawa caught the all too familiar scent of Sobraine cigarettes. It was an expensive brand of sweet smelling tobacco that made his heart race and his palms sweat. Aizawa had avoided that scent for ten years.

"Giran," breathed Aizawa before the man appeared in the halo of flickering light.

Suddenly, the ghosts in his sensory systems sent him careening back through time and distant memories. The prison faded away, and he could have sworn that he saw a beam of sunlight beckoning him deeper into his past.

_The little shop was bright and cozy. Aizawa had gotten up particularly early that Sunday morning to visit the café down the street from UA. It was his first time back in the vicinity since graduation. His hair was brushed and pulled back out of his face. He had found a button-up shirt that was wasn't wrinkled – a pair of pants that were just tight enough to be enticing. He pulled at the collar of his shirt and thumbed at the rim of the steaming latte before him._

"_Waiting for someone?" asked the male barista behind the counter._

_Aizawa looked around to see whom the barista could be talking to. He was the sole customer in the café this early in the morning, and so his eyes finally flickered to the man drying coffee mugs with a rag. A friendly gaze looked back at him, and Aizawa nodded stiffly._

"_A date?" asked the man with a wink._

_Aizawa blushed and looked back at his latte while he nodded._

"_I thought so – given your fine attire," said the man with a light chuckle. _

_Aizawa was too nervous to speak, and so he just nodded in affirmations while he stared out the window with growing nerves._

"_Anyways, today is my first day working here. Let me know if you need more cream or sugar. I'm trying to get the balance just right," said the man as he turned away to work at a smudge on the metal of the shiny espresso machine. _

_Aizawa looked down as the cute little leaf pattern decorating the foam of his latte. It seemed to have cooled down enough to drink, and so Aizawa brought the cup to his lips to take a sip. It was sweet and warm, but the caffeine didn't make his blood rush. Instead, he felt like the world was starting to slow down. An aftertaste blossomed on his soft palate – something astringent and harsh._

"…_taste like…somethin' doesn'…" slurred Aizawa as his tongue went numb and his brain went fuzzy. The edges of his vision blurred._

_The cup fell from his fingers. Ceramic shattered on the floor. Aizawa started to sway, but the man behind the counter appeared by his side and caught him under the arms. He smelled like tobacco. The man dragged Aizawa towards the kitchen door. Just before passing out, Aizawa saw a smeared trail of blood on the floor behind the counter – the true barista was face down on the floor and hastily hidden from view._

_Aizawa opened his mouth to call for help, but nothing came out and the café disappeared._

"It's been a while, Shouta," rumbled Giran, "you look like you've seen a ghost."

Aizawa jolted out of his reverie. His eyes refocused on the broad-shouldered man standing just on the other side of the transparent sheet of plastic. His hair was all grey now compared to the salt and pepper of decades past. The curling crocodile smile was as white and gleaming as ever. His penchant for odd colors, gaudy gold rings, and tailored suits remained. Aside from the new lines that carved out time on his face, Giran had hardly changed.

"Don't call me that," breathed Aizawa.

The black market broker raised one grey brow in bemusement.

"You're not in a position to barter, Shouta," he said.

Giran peered through the plastic with shark dead eyes. Aizawa felt his skin crawl where Giran focused his gaze. Finishing his inspection of the bloody disarray, Giran huffed and lit another cigarette.

"Shouldn't have let Shigaraki come down here alone," muttered Giran over his shoulder.

Finally, his companion stepped into the light. Aizawa caught the glint of blue eyes shining in the darkness before the man stepped into the light.

"I told you he would lose his temper," said Dabi as he picked at something stuck in his teeth.

"Lesson learned," said Giran as he lifted the latch to Aizawa and Hizashi's shared cell, "Shigaraki said that he was goaded into it though."

"Doesn't take a lot," muttered Dabi as he inspected the speck of food he had retrieved under his fingernail.

"I thought our Shouta would have been more well behaved this time around, so I suppose this was a teachable moment for everyone – don't you think, Shouta?" asked Giran.

Aizawa didn't answer. He hated the way his name sounded in Giran's mouth – all false charm and cloying paternalism.

Giran let the door swing open and beckoned for Aizawa to stand and follow suit. Aizawa was rooted in place, unable to will his body into movement.

"You make things hard on yourself, Shouta," chided Giran from the other side of the barrier, "if you would just stop and think before you played at being a hero…life would be so much easier."

Aizawa felt heat rising in his cheeks. Whether it was shame, anger, or fear – he couldn't tell.

"Let's go," said Giran easily with his crocodile smile forever plastered across his leathery skin. Aizawa didn't move.

"Where are you taking him?" demanded Vlad, but he went unanswered.

Giran sighed and gestured for Dabi to intervene.

Dabi nodded and stepped over Hizashi. He hooked one hand under Aizawa's armpit and lifted Aizawa to his feet. Aizawa groaned as his injuries protested the sudden movement. Dabi guided him forward by the elbow, and Aizawa didn't fight this time. Aizawa staggered after Dabi, but his eyes trailed back to Hizashi. He looked pallid and frail crumpled on the floor. The door to the cell shut between them with a bang, but Hizashi still wouldn't wake up.

"He needs a blood transfusion," said Aizawa under his breath so that only Giran and Dabi could hear him.

"Do your part, and then we'll worry about keeping your friends alive," said Giran with a heavy pat on Aizawa's back that sent Aizawa stumbling forward.

"They need food and water," continued Aizawa quietly as he stared up at the daunting set of stairs that led to the exit. He was already out of breath just thinking about the physical exertion in his deteriorating condition.

"Of course," said Giran amicably as he nudged Aizawa forward.

Aizawa winced as he lifted his leg and pain rippled over his raw skin under his pants. He kept going, slowly but surely, until they reached the top of the steps.

"They need decent living conditions," breathed Aizawa harshly. He leaned against the railing for support as his chest heaved for air.

Giran took out a key and unlocked the door.

"We'll see if you're worth the resources," said Giran plainly.

It was always about trade and fair value with this underground dealer – but Aizawa had only his body, his blood, and his life to barter.

The door opened. Bright white light blinded him, and Aizawa stepped forward to meet his fate. He could barely see as his eyes adjusted, but the air was cool and fresh. They walked down a long hallway with Giran and Dabi on either side of Aizawa to keep him on a straight path. Just as his vision cleared, Aizawa was guided into a small room. It was barren and bleached like a sanatorium. There was one rusted and raised hospital bed next to a tray of instruments and a chair.

"Lay down," said Giran.

Aizawa grimaced as he sat and rolled onto his back. He held out his inner arm and waited. Giran smiled at Aizawa's obedience and unwrapped a syringe from the tray. He stabbed the needle into the fleshy part of Aizawa's shoulder and emptied the contents until Aizawa's shoulder ached with pressure. Aizawa instantly felt something warming in his veins.

"Antidote," said Giran simply as he pulled the chair up to Aizawa's bedside. Aizawa peered over to get a better look at the simplistic packaging of the antidote. He wondered if the antidote was strictly necessary to restore quirks, or if their quirks would restore naturally over time and the antidote just hurried the process. If he were ever going to escape, he would need Hizashi's and Vlad's quirks working.

Giran proceeded with a smug smirk as if he were acutely aware of Aizawa plotting. He paid no mind and attached a vial to the end of an obviously used needle in a few practiced movements. He positioned Aizawa's arm and pierced the vein with expert precision.

"Activate your quirk," said Giran. It had been discovered long ago that the compound in his blood was fleeting.

Aizawa blinked a few times in an effort to wet his eyes, but they remained dry and aching. He inhaled and his vision turned red. He felt tendrils of floating hair brushing softly against his cheeks and temples. The pain grew in his retinas until he thought he could feel burning through his optic nerve. Aizawa blinked and his quirk stopped.

"Keep going," said Giran.

Aizawa scrunched his eyes shut to alleviate the sting across his cornea. He took another deep breath and turned on his quirk. His eyes watered under the strain – but his quirk faltered inevitably once again. He brought his free hand up to rub at his eyes. He desperately needed his eye drops.

"Shouta," Giran warned lightly, "don't play games with me."

"My endurance isn't what it used to be," muttered Aizawa. In his youth, his quirk had seemed endless, but his body was getting old and years of battle had worn him down. Especially now, he was faint with hunger and thirst while his blood was being slowly drained. His stamina had never been as low as it was right now.

"If you want Present Mic and Vlad King to live – you'll try harder," said Giran, "otherwise we'll find other ways to motivate you."

Giran nodded to Dabi, and the arsonist stepped forward with a crooked smirk that made his piercings glint in the light. Dabi performed a lazy, two-fingered salute with blue flames licking over the skin on his hand. The threat of torture by fire made Aizawa's heart skip. Primal instinct activated his quirk instantly, and Dabi's flames went out. Aizawa used his fear as inspiration – a fear of fire, a fear of death, a fear of failing to save his friend. For the next ten minutes, Aizawa's eyes flickered rapidly between red and black as he fought to keep his quirk active. Tears of overuse streamed down his temples and drew pale lines through the dried blood on his skin.

Finally, after switching through multiple vials, Giran withdrew the needle and set it down haphazardly. He pressed a bit of gauze into Aizawa's inner elbow while Aizawa clutched at his searing eyes. It burned as if someone had thrown acid in his face. He hardly noticed the gentle, paternal pat on his shoulder.

"You worked hard for me, Shouta," said Giran softly.

Aizawa was dizzy and couldn't quite tell if that gentle praise was coming from the past or the present. Something nagged at his dreary mind. There was something important in the present.

"Hizashi," groaned Aizawa through the pain in an effort to remind Giran of their previous conversations. He heard someone suck their teeth in response across the room.

"Do you think you've earned his keep?" asked Giran absent mindedly as he focused on proper storage of the blood vials.

"If I haven't yet, then I will – just tell me what you want from me," said Aizawa in earnest.

"I want less mouths to feed," muttered Dabi, and Giran chuckled in acknowledgement, "we have what we need right here, Giran."

Aizawa's stomach flipped as he felt his bartering power slipping through his fingers. He had been so passive. He had gone along with this painful process too easily in hopes that he could curry their favor – but it just made their lives easier while he had nothing to show for it. His mind scrambled for answers, but his fear was growing exponentially. He felt hopeless, and then it clicked.

"If one of them dies, I'll kill myself," said Aizawa suddenly.

Both men turned to look at him. Giran sighed and Dabi exhaled a burst of laughter.

"Prove it," said Dabi eagerly. His eyes flickered with excitement as he leaned forward to watch.

"Don't encourage him," grunted Giran, "do you know how difficult Shouta was last time? We had to gag him to keep him from biting through his own tongue. I don't want to deal with his shit again."

Aizawa felt the tides turning in his favor.

"I'll behave," said Aizawa with dizzying earnest. He wasn't sure he would get another chance to persuade them, "food, water, medicine, and decent living conditions. I'll make your job easy. I'll be good."

Giran laughed and said, "I never thought I'd hear Shouta Aizawa promising to be good for me – but I'm not the one you need to convince."

Aizawa's stomach dropped. Shigaraki was the leader of the League, and Aizawa dreaded another encounter with that psychotic lunatic. Then Giran gestured to Dabi, who offered another two-fingered salute.

"I'll be gone more often that not to oversee the production lines – Dabi is taking the lead on this front," said Giran with that awful smile as he headed towards the door – taking Hizashi's best shot at survival with him.

Aizawa took a deep breath as he racked his mind for an ideal strategy. Giran would have been an easy target to manipulate. He knew that old man like the back of his hand. Shigaraki would have been a nightmare, but at least he brought medical supplies in the first place. Dabi was an unpredictable variable that seemed dead set on letting his companions die, and that scared Aizawa more than the leader of the League.

"Good luck," said Giran as he offered a thumbs up before disappearing through the door in a cloud of smoke.

"Well isn't this romantic," said Dabi with a tilted smile cutting across his scar tissue, "it's just the two of us now."

Aizawa opened his mouth to start negotiations, but Dabi brought a finger to his grotesque lips and made a shushing sound. Aizawa shut his mouth and clenched his jaw while Dabi started to prowl. The newly appointed warden circled around the edge of the room like a jungle cat stalking his prey. His gaze seemed hungry and wanting. Nerves made Aizawa's esophagus flutter and his stomach acid burned up his chest. The silence stretched on while Dabi watched him from afar. Eventually, Dabi wet his lips to speak.

"Brought together by the League, we all work towards a common goal, but we each possess radically different values," started Dabi, "Giran has gotten soft in his old age; he likes easy projects and doesn't mind wasting money on a bit of convenience."

Dabi stepped towards the center of the room. In the bright light, Aizawa could see the gruesome burns and scar tissue with more clarity. His gag reflex triggered, but he kept his face neutral.

"But I, on the other hand, don't mind a challenge," said Dabi softly, "I don't mind putting in the additional effort to break a fighting spirit."

Aizawa swallowed nervously against the dryness desiccating his mouth. He had nothing of value to offer this man. Aizawa broke eye contact and looked down at the floor. He only had his body, but what was that compared to the infinite value of Hizashi's life? Still, Aizawa knew resolutely that he had to try. And so, blindly, he reached out and hooked his finger around Dabi's foremost belt loop. He tugged gently and kept his eyes focused downwards.

"I'll make you feel good," breathed Aizawa in a last ditch effort at group survival. He heard the quick exhalation of air through Dabi's nostrils as the bemused man followed the pull at his waist. He took a few steps closer to Aizawa's bedside, and Aizawa continued, "I'll be whatever you want. You can use me. You can break me. Just please…please…"

"You're offering to let me fuck you?" asked Dabi with a chuckle, "You realize I don't need your goddamn fucking permission, right?"

"I know," said Aizawa – his breath hitched, "but you have it, unless you don't want it."

Dabi hummed in contemplation. Aizawa thought he could feel those eyes boring into his soul through the top of his head. What Aizawa actually felt was Dabi's growing erection twitch against his fingers through rough black jeans. Aizawa's brows cringed together as pain shot through his core to remind him that his body wasn't ready to play these games again. Then, Dabi grabbed Aizawa's palm and pressed it flat against the too hot bulge in his jeans.

"Shigaraki wasn't enough for you then?" asked Dabi as he rolled his hips pointedly, "fucking greedy, aren't you?"

Aizawa's eyes widened with nerves. Dabi just kept growing under his palm and well exceed the length of his hand. Dire apprehension made his chest tight and his throat narrow.

"I heard he fucking ripped you apart – but you still want to bleed all over my cock don't you?" murmured Dabi – the lewd obscenity suddenly spilled from his lips like honey, "you want me to ruin you too, hero? You want to play at being a shameless little slut for me?"

Aizawa flinched at the graphic accusations. He wasn't entirely shameless – in fact, shame crackled over his skin like an electric current – but his shame didn't matter. He had people to save.

"I do – I want you," forced Aizawa through the tension in his throat in his best attempt at a submissive plea.

"Good," he muttered. Dabi seemed pleased as he let his head lull back to the side and continued to rut slow circles against Aizawa's hand. Aizawa couldn't stop the blush that returned a wash of color to his pale, clammy skin. Dabi was massive – disproportional to his lean and lanky form. It made Aizawa desperately regret his appointed warden. Yes, Shigaraki had made him beg and plead – made him feel intense, momentary pain – but in the end, Shigaraki was just an arrogant child with a similar disposition to Vlad. It was nothing that Aizawa couldn't handle, but he was starting to believe that the true devil resided within the arsonist before him. Those cold blue eyes were death incarnate.

Eventually, Dabi let Aizawa's hand fall away as he closed the distance between them. Dabi bent forward until the hair on their foreheads just brushed. He lifted Aizawa's chin with one forefinger until Aizawa was forced to meet his gaze.

"You know, I always wanted a pet," said Dabi with a smile that didn't match those lifeless eyes, "When I was young, I always loved playing with those small, stupid creatures."

Aizawa's stomach churned.

"But father never let me keep the ones I brought home after the first few died," said Dabi softly.

A chill ran down Aizawa's spine.

"I didn't realize that fur was so flammable," said Dabi as his forefinger caught fire beneath Aizawa's chin, "not at first anyways."

Aizawa's eyes widened and flickered red just before the heat of the flame could burn his skin, but his beard was singed and the smell of burnt hair fouled the air. Within seconds, his quirk shut off as searing pain shot through his temples. Aizawa jerked back with his palms pressed into his eyes.

Dabi grabbed a fistful of Aizawa's hair and tilted Aizawa's head back with a yank. He pulled Aizawa's hands away from his eyes and waited for Aizawa's eyes to peel open through the pain. Their eyes met again, and Dabi smiled affectionately.

"But father isn't here, so I think I'll keep you for a while," he murmured.

Like a frightened rabbit with it's leg caught in a trap, fear thrummed in Aizawa's veins. His rapid heart threatened to beat out of his chest. He swallowed thickly, but he couldn't look away from the monster that wanted to play.


	6. Chapter 6

**(A/N: just a girl quietly craving feedback lol)**

**Chapter Six: Day of Reckoning**

**Phrase: The time when past mistakes or misdeeds must be punished**

Dabi grabbed Aizawa's shirt collar in his fist and pulled Aizawa up on to his feet. Vertigo made Aizawa see spinning, blurry stars until he wasn't sure he was upright any longer. Then, as suddenly as he was pulled upwards, Dabi released his grip and let Aizawa crash to his knees with a crack through his joints. Kneeling before Dabi, Aizawa groaned and swayed.

"Look at me," said Dabi softly, "I always want you looking at me."

Aizawa tilted his aching skull back to stare up at the tall man looming over him. Knowing the rules helped. He could survive if he knew what was expected of him. Those gleaming eyes held cold blue fire, and it was easy to get lost in Dabi's gaze. Like a serpent and a mouse, Aizawa felt mesmerized and unable to pull away from his impending evisceration.

Dabi brought his thumb to his mouth and rolled his tongue to coat his thumb in spit. He brought his thumb down to Aizawa's face and started to wipe away the streaks of browned blood. When his thumb dried and caught against Aizawa's cheekbone, he brushed his thumb against Aizawa's lips.

"Open your mouth," said Dabi.

Aizawa parted his lips enough to let Dabi's thumb into his mouth and press down onto his tongue. His thumb slid until it hit the back of Aizawa's throat. Using his unkempt nail, Dabi pressed down forcefully on the very back of Aizawa's gag reflex. Aizawa dry heaved instantly and snapped forward as his stomach spasmed. Just as quickly, Dabi's knee struck upwards into Aizawa's forehead and Aizawa's skull cracked backwards. Reeling and dazed, Aizawa nearly fell before Dabi hooked his forefinger back under Aizawa's upper front teeth. Dabi yanked up as if he had a fish on the line.

"I told you to look at me," said Dabi – his tone deathly quiet – unspoken threats laced into every syllable. He sank his thumb back into Aizawa's mouth and forcefully activated Aizawa's gag reflex once more. This time – against all primal instinct – Aizawa choked but kept his head tilted back and his eyes focused upwards.

Finally, with his thumb slicked with viscous, dehydrated spit, Dabi finished cleaning the blood from Aizawa's face.

"I just wanted you to look pretty for the camera," murmured Dabi as he pulled his phone from his back pocket.

The thin, shiny, black connection to the outside world beckoned to Aizawa. If only he could call the police, but where would he tell them to go? Still, Aizawa wondered briefly if he could suppress Dabi's quirk long enough to take the arsonist in a fight. No – he realized – his eyes were shot. His blood supply was low. Pain rippled across his hips and shot through his intestines. Aizawa thought to himself, he didn't want to go through the pain of trying to be an impulsive hero type again. He would bide his time and wait for a better opportunity.

While Aizawa plotted, Dabi opened his camera and started to unzip his pants. The bright blue light of the screen made his face look gaunt and skeletal.

"Let's make a home video together, babe," said Dabi with a ghastly smile.

Aizawa stared up blankly at the unblinking eyes of the warden and his phone. He didn't know what to do – he hadn't been given any instructions. Alas, Dabi had something specific in mind as he unbuckled his belt and let his black boxer briefs show. His erection strained the fabric. Aizawa thought he could see the tip of Dabi's cock just above the hem of his waistline – but Aizawa didn't want to look just as much as he was afraid to break eye contact.

"Don't be shy," said Dabi as he pulled down his boxer briefs and let his cock spring out. The thick shaft fell against Aizawa's cheekbone and the tip pressed up against his brow. Aizawa flinched, and Dabi said with a teasing smile, "you look good with my cock on your face, hero."

Dabi wrapped his free hand around his dick – his fingertips nowhere close to meeting around the width of the shaft – and he started to draw slow and steady lines down Aizawa's pale face. Pre-cum trailed behind his cock and glistened on Aizawa's skin. He tapped his cock against Aizawa's lips, nose, forehead, and chin – anywhere he pleased as Aizawa stared blankly upwards. Aizawa could almost forget the humiliation as he focused on the blue iris rings. His mind started to drift – but Dabi noticed and pulled him back into reality.

"Tell me what you want, kitten," said Dabi as he pulled at Aizawa's bottom lip with the head of his cock, "talk dirty to me."

Aizawa's cheeks burned – he didn't know what to say. No one had ever asked him for that before. He only wanted to run away, but Dabi didn't want to hear that, and Aizawa had never exceled in anything that required creativity.

"Come on, I know you're just a fucking slut begging to get wrecked – but I wanna hear you ask for it, sweetheart," said Dabi easily as he started to rut his cock back and forth against Aizawa's jawline, "unless you think that loudmouth blond would do a better job."

Aizawa's blank expression finally broke as fear blew out his pupils and made his brows knit. In an instant, Aizawa forced himself to forget the camera and the last shreds of dignity that held him together. He would be whatever Dabi wanted him to be.

"I want you," said Aizawa as tried to hide his terror through half-lidded bedroom eyes.

Dabi almost snickered and asked, "Why don't I believe you?"

Aizawa blushed – he wasn't good at this.

"Please, let me go down on you," he tried to beg, but the words felt forced and insincere.

"Try again – this is your last chance before I find another pet," said Dabi as he traced his cock down the bridge of Aizawa's nose.

His last chance; Aizawa wondered what he would say if he weren't about to be raped on camera. He tried to imagine that it were just another late night in a seedy bar. He tried to focus on the pleasant heat of Dabi's cock against his skin and the thick scent of sex in the air. He tried to notice the squareness of Dabi's jaw under the thick layer of scar tissue. He tried to see the beauty in the eyes that made him fear death.

Aizawa parted his lips to speak – there were no words – there was nothing he wanted from this man. But there was something he wanted from every man – a fleeting feeling he chased until the journey broke him time and time again. There was a deep dissatisfaction clinging to Aizawa's soul – something hollow that any decent man refused to fulfill – and the words tumbled out.

"I want you to fuck me until I can't think straight anymore," whispered Aizawa as he reached into some deep, repressed aspect of his soul – that ever present part of him that just wanted to die, "I just want you to hurt me – please."

"Oh shit," whistled Dabi. His cock twitched with excitement and pre-cum oozed over Aizawa's cheek. "Open up. Stick your tongue out. Yeah that's good, you cock hungry whore."

Aizawa did as he was told, and Dabi let his swollen tip rest gently on Aizawa's tongue.

"You look so fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth," murmured Dabi, "you wanna choke on it, babe?"

Aizawa nodded a fraction of an inch. His jaw was starting to ache already. Dabi tasted like a salted ashtray. Slowly, Dabi thrust forward into Aizawa's mouth while he held Aizawa's head with his free hand. He pushed past the resistance at the back of Aizawa's throat. Aizawa's gag reflex made him shudder and jerk, but burning hot fingers in his hair kept him still. Dabi opened Aizawa's throat with persistent, damaging pressure until Aizawa's throat bruised from the inside out. Dabi lowered the camera to catch the bulging curve of Aizawa's throat around his cock.

"Blink twice if you like being throat fucked by the enemy," laughed Dabi with an airy delight.

Aizawa blinked twice and saltwater trailed down his temples. The massive girth in his throat was making his eyes water.

"How long can you last without oxygen?" asked Dabi as he rocked his pelvis into Aizawa's nose without ever actually pulling back, "Four – maybe six minutes? I want to see your lips turn blue, Shouta. That's what you wanted right? You think I can come in six minutes?"

Aizawa's eyelids fluttered as Dabi groaned and crushed his hips further against Aizawa's face. They stayed still like that for a while, and the room started to look hazy.

How long had it been? Aizawa lost focus – his mind drifted as the cozy waters of asphyxiation threatened to pull him under. Dabi started thrusting his hips – slowly at first – playing up the shifting bulge in Aizawa's throat for the camera. Aizawa's eyes started to roll back, but some tiny voice in the back of his head reminded him to keep looking at Dabi's half lidded eyes. Dabi grunted and tilted his chin to his chest as he started to fuck Aizawa's throat a little faster. The thick sounds of gagging and choking filled room.

"Are you gonna die on me, Shouta?" breathed Dabi as he watched the lips around his dick turn blue.

Aizawa's heart rate slowed down – his body was trying to preserve what little oxygen he had left.

Dabi hips pistoned faster. Real tears streamed down Aizawa's cheeks – he needed air. Death was only minutes away. The ancestral drive to survive told him to fight. Aizawa's eyes refocused with a frantic desperation to escape. He tried to jerk his head back. His chest pulled for air with no success. The suction only made Dabi moan.

Dabi stumbled forward and gripped the hospital bed for support. He brought Aizawa's head with him until the back of Aizawa's skull was flush against the metal of the bedframe. Dabi fucked Aizawa into the barrier as he gripped the bedframe for leverage with white knuckles.

"Fuck," breathed Dabi.

Aizawa's eyes finally started to close.

He had asked for this – begged for this.

"You feel good," said Dabi as his breath hitched.

Death had called to him – it was still calling.

Aizawa's ephemeral survival instincts dwindled along with his oxygen levels. He was losing consciousness as his lungs burned. Suffocation was painful, but the pain was fading. Aizawa lost all sense of awareness. He didn't notice Dabi's final bruising thrusts and the boiling hot liquid that shot down his esophagus. Aizawa had no recollection of Dabi softening in his throat as he his hips stayed pressed against Aizawa's face and Aizawa's head remained trapped against the metal bar. Aizawa's vision tunneled into pinpricks as Dabi took deep, satisfying breaths. Aizawa hardly remembered the feeling of hot liquid filling his stomach as Dabi released his bladder. When Dabi finally pulled his flaccid cock out of Aizawa's throat, Aizawa only remembered violently vomiting urine and semen onto the boots in front of him. Aizawa shook and heaved as the bitter, foul tasting liquids were purged from his stomach – the smell and taste made him gag all over again. He spit bile and flesh until his stomach lining was raw.

When he was done, Aizawa started to come back to the world of the living. He wiped his lips and spit one more time before Dabi squatted down next to him on the floor. The soulless eyes of the arsonist and his camera were square in Aizawa's face.

"I hope I exceeded your expectations," murmured Dabi, "did you enjoy yourself?"

Aizawa tried to glare, but he was too tired. His throat ached from abuse and singed with acid. He couldn't bring himself to speak. He couldn't even bring himself to look Dabi in the eyes anymore – the cold tingling of shame overwhelmed his thought processes – but he nodded in agreement for fear of something worse than what he had just experienced.

"Answer me," said Dabi sternly – dissatisfied with the lack of verbal confirmation.

Aizawa took a shuddering breath. He didn't want this again. How many times would this happen if he said yes? What would happen if he said no? And then he remembered why he was degrading himself. Hizashi was waiting for him. Hizashi needed him.

"I liked it," rasped Aizawa barely above a whisper. His watering eyes shut tight against the words that made him feel filthy and used.

Dabi started to laugh – an unearthly sound. He stood up and cracked his back as he twisted side to side. He zipped his pants and started towards the door.

"I didn't think you'd be this much fun, hero, but a deal is a deal," he said over his shoulder, "I'll make arrangements for the useless ones you care so much about."

The door slammed shut behind Dabi when he left. Aizawa was finally alone. There were no more watchful eyes that made him feel like he had to hide behind high walls. There was no one left to judge him for being weak. He felt the weight of the wrongs that had been inflicted upon his body – and Aizawa couldn't stop the tears falling down his face. He hugged his body tight and huddled over his knees while silent sobs started to wrack his ribcage. Exhaustion overtook him. He didn't know how long he stayed on the floor crying – there were no more tears but he still shook in anguish. Time seemed to pause. He faded in and out of consciousness until someone returned for his body.

Those familiar dirty boots entered his small field of vision once more.

"You won't need these anymore, pet."

Something was pulling at his clothing. He could smell the bitterness of melting synthetic fibers. Aizawa's body grew uncomfortably hot as his clothes were burned away. He had no memory of being picked up, of traversing a long hallway in scar tissue arms, or of being dumped into a new room like a lifeless ragdoll.

* * *

Hizashi and Vlad sat in their new beds. They were lumpy and hard, but a decent upgrade from the plastic boxes they had been in before. There was even a small bathroom, but that was the extent of their privileges. Hizashi had no memory of being moved to this new location, but Vlad had told him that a purple mist entered the vents of the plastic boxes and knocked Vlad out cold before they woke up in beds. Vlad told Hizashi about Aizawa stitching him up. He also told Hizashi about the men that took Aizawa away.

"Do you think they're hurting him?" asked Hizashi as he stared at the ceiling and tried to ignore the IV in his arm. He didn't remember getting the IV either. He had a creeping feeling knowing that someone had handled his sleeping body. "Do you think he's okay?"

"Probably," grunted Vlad without answering either question.

Hizash sighed and looked over at Vlad. The man was in bed with his back turned to Hizashi. Conversation was like pulling teeth but Hizashi needed to fill the silence.

"You said they knew Aizawa from before?" asked Hizashi as he tried to wrap his mind around that fact, "Like they had done this to him already?"

"Yeah," exhaled Vlad with impatience.

Hizashi chewed at his lip.

"You think they abducted him before?" asked Hizashi softly.

Vlad was silent for a moment.

"Or he worked with them before," suggested Vlad. His tone was low.

Hizashi frowned against the accusation and said, "Aizawa's not a traitor."

"Think about it, Yamada. We never heard about Aizawa being abducted. That would have been all over the news," said Vlad firmly, "you were close with him, weren't you? Wouldn't you have realized if he had gone missing? Wouldn't his parents have called the police? Wouldn't his hero agency have noticed his absence?"

Hizashi swallowed. They had been close. Aizawa had been a good friend in school, but Hizashi had a lot of friends, and it was hard to keep track of them all after graduation.

Vlad's accusations were relentless, "Our hero protocol dictates that we report any villain activity to the police. If no one knows about it, then that means he's hiding something or protecting someone."

Hizashi's nerves were starting to fray as he tried to think of rebuttals to Vlad's logical process.

"We don't know that Aizawa didn't report it," said Hizashi.

"The old man kept saying shit like: 'this time around, Shouta'. And that blue haired bastard knew that Aizawa knew something we didn't know – don't you remember what he said?" asked Vlad sharply.

"_Haven't you figured it out yet Eraser? Haven't you told your friends? That this is all for you?"_

Shigaraki's damning words hung in the air between the two men. Hizashi was losing ground in this battle of faith. Vlad was starting to sound crazed in his unyielding paranoia, and Hizashi was starting to feel uncomfortable stuck in a room alone with him.

"Shigaraki is insane, that doesn't mean anything," muttered Hizashi. His stomach was in knots. He didn't want to think about that sadist. "You know Aizawa. You know he's a good person."

Vlad didn't want to hear it, as if he had already made up his mind that Aizawa was some sort of double agent spy. He kept rambling facts and evidence that Hizashi couldn't quite disprove.

"We know now that Aizawa had a pre-existing connection with the league. Even though we had countless meetings about this damned organization, Aizawa kept his mouth shut the whole fucking time," spat Vlad, "We knew we had a mole at UA, and this is pretty fucking suspect."

Hizashi closed his eyes. Aizawa wasn't a traitor.

"They wouldn't hurt him like that if he was one of them," said Hizashi desperately.

"You know he's an asshole," muttered Vlad as his anger settled into permanence, "he probably pissed them off somehow just by being himself. Now we're stuck in the middle of it."

"This isn't his fault," snapped Hizashi, but he had no way to prove Aizawa's innocence. He just knew.

"Keep telling yourself that, Yamada," said Vlad bitterly, "see where it gets you."

Hizashi grimaced. His anger made his stitches throb in tandem with his rising blood pressure. He needed to pace and vent his frustrations, but he was weak and his anger just sat with him in silence. He worried over Aizawa as time passed. Images of blood and sex flashed when he closed his eyes. Hizashi spent hours trying not to blink too much until he heard someone at the door.

"Did you hear that?" whispered Hizashi.

Vlad sat up suddenly, his muscles straining with the pointless desire to fight.

The metal door swung open slowly to reveal the man that Vlad had only seen twice before. The villain from the burning forest – the scarred companion to the man that Aizawa had called 'Giran'. It was Hizashi's first time seeing Dabi – the grotesque flesh proudly on display, but he hardly noticed. Instead, Hizashi's stomach flipped when he saw that a skeletal, naked body was curled up in the man's burnt, purple arms.

"What did you do to him?" whispered Hizashi as he struggled to lean forward.

Dabi smiled like a Cheshire cat and grazed his chin affectionately over the top of Aizawa's hair.

"I just had some fun," murmured Dabi.

Then, Dabi dropped Aizawa unceremoniously on to the floor. Aizawa was unconscious as he slumped over, and his skull cracked loudly on the metal floor.

"You're a monster," choked Hizashi.

"Name calling? Are you trying to make me mad?" asked Dabi playfully, "After all, your friend tried so hard to me happy. You shouldn't waste his efforts."

Hizashi's ashen complexion paled further as blood drained from his face.

"You should thank Shouta for the room and your blood transfusion when he wakes up," said Dabi as he fished around his deep pockets. He pulled out a paper bag of supplies and tossed them down next to Aizawa, "Clean him up for me, will you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Hizashi with wide eyes. He didn't want these creature comforts anymore. He was fine in that sweltering dungeon.

"Ask no questions and you'll be told no lies," quoted Dabi with a nonchalant peace sign before he slammed the door shut behind him.

"God damn it," cursed Hizashi as he stared at the crumpled body on the floor. Aizawa's lips and fingertips were blue and his inner arm was bruised black. Naked now, Hizashi could clearly see the jagged lines of bloody decay that laced over the back of Aizawa's neck and over the rise of Aizawa's ass. He wanted to throw up.

Instead, Hizashi clenched his teeth as tears started to burn in his eyelids. Aizawa was so close, just a few feet away, but Hizashi was still too incapacitated to do anything to save him. His anger and helplessness made him shout, "Damn it, Vlad, help him up!"

Vlad grunted as he rolled out of bed. He had been eyeing the filthy, vomit and piss covered man on the floor with distaste. He wondered what Aizawa had done to incur the wrath of the League. He wondered how long Aizawa had been hiding these vital secrets – if he had been turned before or after he accepted work at UA – if he had fallen out with the league before or after the USJ incident. Conspiracy theories ran rampantly through Vlad's thoughts, but he was sure of one thing – this man was most likely a traitor given the evidence. Vlad's collarbone flushed with anger. He felt stupid for not seeing it sooner. What kind of amoral whore was a proper hero anyways?

Vlad bent over Aizawa to pick him up off the floor. Looking closer, he could see a spurt of left over cum in Aizawa's beard. Vlad grimaced. He wondered if Aizawa liked it when those men were rough with him. After all, Aizawa always liked it when Vlad was rough with him. Or at least, he didn't seem to mind.

"I'm going to wash him down," muttered Vlad as he picked up the paper bag of supplies. Not because their warden asked, but because Vlad had his own agenda in which Hizashi need not be involved.

Hizashi watched Vlad carry Aizawa into the bathroom in silence. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't place the nausea rising in his stomach, but it matched the feeling of watching Vlad fuck Aizawa in the forest the night before their abduction. He should have intervened. But what was his reasoning now? Aizawa was hurt and Vlad had offered to help, but there was a dark look in Vlad's eyes when he left.

Hizashi shifted towards the edge of his bed, but his chest screamed in pain and the world spun. He felt dangerously close to passing out again. There was nothing he could do to ease that nervousness in stomach and those tears he had been holding back finally started to fall.

In the bathroom, Vlad set Aizawa down on the floor of the shower and turned on the faucet. Hot water fell on Aizawa's legs and steam started to fog up the small, austere space. He opened the paper bag to find more bandages, ointment, and a packet of red iron pills. Vlad turned to look at Aizawa's bruised inner arm. Upon closer inspection, there was an inflamed mark where a needle must have entered the vein. Vlad sucked his teeth. Blood withdrawal, he thought to himself. That would explain the signs of anemia and the iron pills. That would also explain the quirk suppression if the League had managed to utilize Aizawa's blood.

Vlad ground his teeth as he glared at the unconscious man. He had so many questions. Vlad knelt down just outside the shower and grabbed Aizawa's shoulder to shake him awake. The man's bleary eyes opened into slits.

"Wake up, traitor," growled Vlad.

The accusation sent a jolt through Aizawa and his eyebrows scrunched together. His lips parted as he tried to form words.

"Were you selling your blood to them?" asked Vlad abruptly. Aizawa was always tired – always anemic. He was always closed off and gone at odd hours. He was always tight on money. A drug habit perhaps. "How long have you been working for the League?"

The rapid-fire interrogation made Aizawa blink rapidly as he tried to process his worst fears coming true. He tried to shake his head no, but his neck hurt and he didn't have the energy to move.

"You don't have to answer me now," muttered Vlad, and Aizawa was foolish enough to think that the interrogation had ended.

Vlad removed skintight clothes quickly and stepped into the shower with Aizawa. In absolute silence, he grabbed a bottle of all-purpose soap and washed Aizawa's hair. The dried blood liquefied and ran down the drain in red spirals. Vlad lathered his hands in suds and washed away the foreign bodily fluids with a dutiful focus.

"Turn around," said Vlad as he helped Aizawa move. Aizawa hissed when the hot water and harsh soap hit his raw, disintegrated skin.

"Does that hurt?" asked Vlad quietly. His blunt fingernails dug into the fragile wounds and Aizawa gasped.

Aizawa's heart tried to race – there was something dangerous happening – but his heart was too tired.

"Vlad," rasped Aizawa, "whatever you think happened…"

"They knew you," whispered Vlad as he grabbed the tube of ointment from outside the shower, "tell me how you knew them."

"Ten years ago," rasped Aizawa – trying to convey the pain and suffering he had endured, but his mind was cloudy and his words were slurred, "it was a long time ago. I didn't mean to..."

Vlad's hands were shaking with anger and he dug his nails deeper. Aizawa whined through the pain coursing through his over stimulated system.

"And yet you didn't turn them in," accused Vlad, and Aizawa shook his head in a daze.

The blank look on Aizawa's face pissed Vlad off. It had always pissed him off. The holier than thou aloofness that made Vlad feel like shit every time Aizawa walked away from him. Now he knew why though – now he knew that Aizawa was the enemy all along – he knew that Aizawa was using him and making him look like a fool.

"You're one of them," accused Vlad.

"You don't understand," choked out Aizawa. If only he could explain better, if only he could think straight. But Vlad was right – he hadn't gone to the police. He let them get away with abusing him and stealing his blood. Did that make him an accomplice? Did that make him a villain too?

"I thought the leader had raped you – and you just kept saying 'I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine'. It didn't make any sense," hissed Vlad under his breath, "Is that because you always let him fuck you like that? I know you like it rough, but that's fucked up Aizawa."

Aizawa's eyes were so wide that his temples hurt. He had always know that people would think bad things – this was why he didn't go to the police in the first place. He had to make Vlad understand –

"I never – I didn't want – Vlad I – " stuttered Aizawa as Vlad's grip around his waist tightened. He was suddenly painfully aware of the proximity of their naked bodies. He had hardly noticed before. He and Vlad were always naked together – but this was different.

There was fear coursing through his veins this time. He didn't want to go through this again so soon. Aizawa breathed deeply. His chest was too tight. He just needed a moment to breathe.

Vlad kneed the back of Aizawa's legs to make them buckle. He pressed Aizawa into the ground so that Aizawa was in a child's pose with his knees spread open under his chest. The spray of water wasn't reaching his ass anymore, but the pose stretched his skin and made Aizawa whine in pain.

"Vlad, please – not right now," startled Aizawa.

"I'm just trying to help you," muttered Vlad as he squirted a line of ointment onto his fingers.

"I don't need help," said Aizawa desperately, but Vlad's fingers were already rubbing ointment over his abused entrance. He gasped and flinched at the overwhelming sensation. It burned at the tear that ran through his ring of muscle.

"Your insides are injured," said Vlad in monotone.

"Please stop," whispered Aizawa. He didn't want to be any louder. He didn't want Hizashi to hear what was happening – not again.

"Relax," muttered Vlad, "if you're fucking the entire League, then this shouldn't even fucking faze you, right?"

Vlad recoated his fingers in ointment and resumed his work around Aizawa's entrance. Vlad brought his free palm up around Aizawa's mouth. He didn't want Hizashi to hear this either. In the back of his mind, he knew that this was crazy, but Aizawa pissed him off. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, regardless of Aizawa's crimes, but Aizawa was just naked and fucked up looking and it made Vlad's dick hard.

Aizawa's breathing rate quickened as his fear of pain skyrocketed. The circling around his entrance seemed to last forever – until he could almost believe that the pain wouldn't come. Then, without warning, Vlad shoved two fingers halfway in and immediately added a third. He sank his three fingers down to the knuckles and twisted. Aizawa screamed into Vlad's palm and his eyes rolled back as searing pain shot through his rectum. Blood oozed over Vlad's knuckles.

"Tell me how long you've been spying on us," demanded Vlad.

"I wasn't," whined Aizawa into Vlad's palm with a muffled gasp, "I didn't mean for this to happen."

Vlad stretched his three fingers open, pulling Aizawa apart in all directions. He watched Aizawa keen and buckle without compassion.

"Don't lie to me," spat Vlad as he increased the width of his insertion.

"I'm not!" cried Aizawa. He was so tired. He was so tired of being in pain. It was making him dizzy again. Vlad pressed deeper still. Aizawa yelped and jolted forward but Vlad held him in place by the jaw. Aizawa scrambled for answers and whined, "Please listen, I didn't want anyone to know what they did to me when they took me. I was ashamed, Vlad, please believe me, please…please don't do this to me…please…I trusted you…"

Vlad just stared at the periphery of Aizawa scrunched up expression. That blank look was finally gone. Tears were streaming down Aizawa' s cheeks and rolling over Vlad's hand. Vlad felt a twinge of pleasure race down his abdomen. He was a hero – he told himself – it wouldn't feel this good if Aizawa were a hero too.

"I don't believe you," said Vlad softly, "A dirty whore like Aizawa Shouta has never felt shame a day in his life."

The tears started to fall faster. Aizawa was too overcome to fight back – to tell Vlad that he was wrong. He did feel shame. He was ashamed every day for over a decade. He slept with people to forget that shame – not because he was shameless. But he couldn't tell Vlad now, not when he felt Vlad lining up his hips with his ass stretched open in the air.

All Aizawa could manage was a soft plea.

"You're hurting me."

There was no answer.

Vlad slowly pushed his cock through the lubed up, torn up hole. The pain and humiliation made Aizawa wail involuntarily. Vlad had started gently, but the noises that came from Aizawa's blue lips were making his groin hot and eager. He just wanted to fuck this man until he confessed his sins. Vlad was so focused on the wet heat of ointment and blood that he didn't notice the door cracking open behind him. He didn't hear the deep, rumbling snarl of the man who discovered this act of violence.

It was too late when he heard, "get off of him!"

Vlad heard a crack of metal on bone before he felt the blinding, white-hot pain explode in his skull. Then the world went black as he fell to the shower floor.

Aizawa started to hyperventilate under the weight of Vlad's body. Vlad was so heavy, he felt like he couldn't breathe. He had just enough strength to claw at the shower drain and pull his body free. A sickening squelch echoed in the bathroom when Vlad's cock popped out of his ass.

"Aizawa – Aizawa are you okay?" breathed Hizashi's ragged voice.

Aizawa turned with wide, fear blown eyes to see that Hizashi was also crumpled to the ground with the IV stand clutched in his hands. The stand was bent at an odd angle. Aizawa's eyes followed the metal pole down to the point of impact on Vlad's skull. His white hair was dyed red and a pool of blood was growing steadily under his unblinking eyes. Aizawa reached out with a shaking finger to feel under Vlad's jugular. There was nothing. Aizawa pressed harder. Nothing.

He looked up at Hizashi and stammered, "He's dead."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven: Consenescence**

_Noun: To grow weak and decay together_

Moments before Vlad's death, Hizashi heard angry voices echoing in the bathroom. He forced himself out of bed, using the IV stand for support. He opened the door just a crack to peak inside – just to check.

The naked bodies in the shower were entangled.

"_You're hurting me."_

A piercing wail of agony rang in Hizahsi's ears.

Vlad's hips didn't stop moving.

Rage clouded Hizashi's vision. Hizashi couldn't let this happen – not again. His arms started to move. He bellowed a warning long forgotten.

A flash of metal.

A wet crack.

Vlad's neck snapped to the side at an odd angle. His body fell with a thud, unmoving. He had never seen a body so still.

"_He's dead."_

"No…" said Hizashi as he shook his head and stumbled back against the wall. It was an accident – an accident – he hadn't meant to take a life. His hands gripped the metal stand until his knuckles turned white. Hizashi's legs trembled once before they gave way. He sank down to the floor and started to hyperventilate. He gasped for air but the air was too thin. "No, no, no."

"Hizashi…" mumbled Aizawa.

But Hizashi couldn't think straight – he felt like he couldn't breathe. Why had he swung so hard? Why had he aimed for the temple? It was such a fragile and vulnerable spot. It didn't make any sense. Hizashi wasn't a violent person by nature.

"I – I didn't mean to…I swear I didn't – I didn't – " he repeated these fragments over and over until perhaps he himself believed that this was an accident, that his anger hadn't gotten the best of him, that he hadn't wanted this, that he hadn't wanted Vlad to die.

"Hizashi, what do we do?" asked Aizawa urgently.

Hizashi finally tore his eyes away from the steadily expanding puddle of blood. He looked up to see Aizawa's wild eyes behind strands of damp hair. Hizashi opened his mouth to speak, but there was nothing – just guilt and excuses and regrets. There was too much happening. Hizashi clutched at his bandages and tried to steady his breaths.

"I don't know, I have no idea what to do," said Hizashi quickly. He wasn't a villain. He didn't know what to do with dead bodies. He stared up at Aizawa, looking for answers, but Aizawa's expression was just as lost.

"Hizashi why…why would you?" sputtered Aizawa with a disjointed gesture in Vlad's direction.

Hizashi didn't have an answer. Why would he do anything like this? His heart was still racing. His hands still shook with left over anger. Hizashi's thoughts just kept flitting back to the moment before he struck:

'_You're hurting me.'_

Aizawa's pitiful cry. Hizashi had seen white, and then Vlad was dead.

"He was hurting you," said Hizashi desperately.

Aizawa ran his fingers through his hair and bit his lip.

"You didn't have to…not for me," he said with that strained look on his face.

Hizashi's stomach flipped.

"Aizawa…" muttered Hizashi, "how could I stand by and let him do that to you?"

Aizawa averted his eyes and shifted backwards as the pool of Vlad's blood crept closer to his toes.

"I was fine," muttered Aizawa, his arms crossed over his bare chest, "I was okay, I didn't care, Hizashi, goddamnit you didn't have to kill him."

"I told you it was an accident," Hizashi huffed and shook his head, unable to understand Aizawa's lack of dignity and self-respect. He knew that Aizawa was damaged, but this was too much. "Look at me, Aizawa, please," asked Hizashi. He waited until Aizawa's eyes flickered over to him, "Listen, none of that was fine, he was ra – "

Aizawa flinched and cut him off sharply, "Stop. Hizashi, he was just – "

"Raping you," finished Hizashi firmly – needing to justify his own actions. Hizashi could see Aizawa's jaw clench as muscles rippled down his neck. "Doesn't that matter to you?" asked Hizashi, softly this time.

Aizawa grimaced and looked away before muttering, "Who gives a fuck how I feel if it just keeps happening regardless?"

"I do," whispered Hizashi, his heart breaking all over again.

"Well…don't. And don't look at me like that," said Aizawa when his eyes flickered back to see the pitiful look on Hizashi's face.

"I'm sorry," said Hizashi softly, and he saw Aizawa roll his eyes in tandem with a sharp exhale.

"You care too much, Hizashi, it'll just make your life harder," muttered Aizawa, "especially here. They won't stop until I'm dead. If you're going to survive until then, you'll need a thicker skin."

"I'll protect you," said Hizashi. He didn't want to think about those morbid possibilities. They might never leave this place. Vlad wouldn't. They were one down, two to go.

"I don't want you to protect me," said Aizawa simply, looking away again.

"Well it's too late, isn't it?" sighed Hizashi, and let his head fall back against the wall.

A few moments of silence passed before Aizawa responded softly.

"It's not worth your soul, Hizashi," said Aizawa with a limp gesture towards Vlad's broken body, "this isn't who you are – I'm not worth you becoming this person."

And Hizashi couldn't reply, because Aizawa was worth everything. He knew they wouldn't see eye to eye, and so Hizashi groaned as he struggled to his feet.

"Come on," said Hizashi gently, and he extended his hand out to Aizawa across the expanse of blood. Slowly, Aizawa reached out and grasped Hizashi's hand. Together, they used each other for support as they stumbled out of the crime scene and back into their respective beds.

Aizawa curled up in the thin covers and turned his back to Hizashi while Hizashi watched the rise and fall of Aizawa's rib cage. A few moments passed until Hizashi heard a faint, barely there question.

"Do you think I'm a traitor?" asked Aizawa softly, "I never filed a report. I never told anyone. I let them get away with making such a dangerous weapon."

Hizashi sighed and frowned. So that was what happened in the bathroom.

"I know you, Aizawa. I know you're a good person," said Hizashi.

"Maybe, but withholding that vital information – lying by omission when I knew that UA was in danger – that students were in danger," muttered Aizawa, "Maybe I'm not a traitor, but aren't those traitorous acts?"

"You know me" asked Hizashi softly, "I've always believe in good intentions," and Aizawa was quiet for a moment. They always differed on those moral philosophies. He waited while Aizawa steadied his breaths before speaking.

"Giran thought I was dead. I couldn't – " Aizawa's voice caught in his throat and he coughed to clear the tension, "If they knew I didn't die – if they found me again…I couldn't…"

Hizashi heard the pain cutting in Aizawa's voice. He knew what the public would think. He knew what the Pro Hero Code of Ethics required, but he thought about what Aizawa must have gone through. If the sexual abuse of the past forty-eight hours was any indication of what Aizawa's imprisonment was like ten years ago, then Hizashi could understand not wanting to risk being capture again.

"It sounds like you were just trying to survive a bad thing that happened to you," said Hizashi softly, "that doesn't make you a bad person."

"But what I did caused bad things," muttered Aizawa.

"You couldn't have known," said Hizashi.

"I shouldn't have had to know," Aizawa scoffed sharply, "I was…I was supposed to be a hero."

"You are a hero," insisted Hizashi and Aizawa tsked.

"Because of me, you've been abducted and Vlad is dead," said Aizawa with his hands coming up to cover his eyes, not seeing that Hizashi shook his head in response.

"Vlad is dead because of me, Aizawa, not you," said Hizashi firmly.

Aizawa just shrugged under the covers.

"Tell me you understand that," begged Hizashi softly, but Aizawa never replied.

* * *

They sat in silence for a long time. Hours passed as they drifted in and out of uncomfortable cycles of sleep. Aizawa didn't want to talk – didn't want to move. Some part of him felt selfish for turning his back on Hizashi. After all, Hizashi had just taken his first life and that wasn't an easy event to cope with, even if it had been an accident. Aizawa took the blame onto himself, feeling that even though Hizashi swung the weapon, Aizawa himself had allowed the events to unfurl in a way that led to Vlad's death. If only he had kept his mouth shut. If only he had just put up with the pain and humiliation. Aizawa had gotten so good at just staying still and taking it – but Dabi had shaken him to his core – made the transgression somehow harder to withstand.

Maybe it was the way they spoke to him here – Vlad and Dabi and Shigaraki. He could withstand the pain, but the verbal assaults were cutting and raw and made it hard to dissociate. Those voices still rang in his ears –

"_I've heard rumors about you, Eraser," whispered Shigaraki._

"_You look so fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth," murmured Dabi, "you wanna choke on it, babe?"_

"_Relax," muttered Vlad, "if you're fucking the entire League, then this shouldn't even fucking faze you, right?"_

Aizawa sat up quickly when his heart started racing. He didn't want their words racing in his thoughts. But the timing was impeccable. The locks started shifting in the heavy-duty door.

They had a visitor.

Aizawa pulled the bed sheet up around his tensed body. He hoped it wasn't Dabi. Anyone but Dabi, but the universe wasn't listening.

Lo and behold, the devil himself slipped through the metal door with a tray balanced precariously on his fingertips. Aizawa's heart sped up. He watched Dabi – the smirk on his lips that pulled at those glinting piercings. Those cold, lifeless eyes that Aizawa couldn't look at without feeling like he was suffocating again.

"Good evening, pet," said Dabi as the door shut behind him. He presented the tray at eye level with the two men in their beds. The tray held three plates with three to-go bento boxes. Dabi tilted his head as he looked between Aizawa and Hizashi.

"The big one. Where is he?" Dabi asked as he dipped down to check under the beds. The tray stayed perfectly horizontal on his long fingertips with seasoned expertise.

Aizawa bit his lip. There was no way to hide the evidence – no way to predict the consequences.

"You know I hate it when you don't answer me," chided Dabi, and Aizawa shivered despite himself.

"Bathroom," Aizawa said thickly, his throat getting tight. Aizawa swallowed his anxiety and hoped he would choke on it.

Dabi raised one eyebrow. He crossed the entirety of the room in a few long strides. His knuckles rapped against the metal door, but there was no reply. Finally, Dabi opened the door and laughed out loud when he saw the dead body strew across the tiles. He laughed so hard that he doubled over and held his stomach with one hand. Aizawa's teeth clenched. This perverse sense of humor terrified him to no end.

"Well, shit," chuckled Dabi, "I thought you were supposed to be the good guys."

The accusation was too soon and the guilt still stung, but Aizawa didn't reply.

Aizawa's eyes were glued to Dabi's expression, taking in every mannerism in search of that psychotic break that would make his life hell. Dabi just shut the bathroom door with a snicker and a smile. He tossed a bento that landed in Aizawa's lap, and the second bento whizzed over his head to land on Hizashi's bed.

"Eat," ordered Dabi as he unwrapped the remaining bento and sat in Vlad's empty bed on the far wall.

Aizawa stared down at the familiar Family Mart packaging. His heart started beating faster as he read the label stuck onto the plastic wrap.

_Kabukicho._

If Dabi had bought these bento boxes at a convenience store near their current location, then that meant they were still in Japan – the red light district of Kabukicho, Tokyo to be exact. Aizawa rubbed his thumb over the label and turned to look at Hizashi, who seemed to have noticed the same piece of information.

They were so close to home.

"Are you deaf?" asked Dabi through a mouthful of sweet rolled omelet.

Aizawa started to open his bento, but he had already lost his appetite. Ten years ago, Giran had been so careful to never disclose any information about their location. They could have been halfway around the world, for all Aizawa knew, but Dabi was so careless. It was a blatant implication that they would take these secrets to their graves, and those graves would be a dumpster in Kabukicho.

Distracted by those morbid thoughts, Aizawa slowly shoveled food into his mouth absentmindedly. He swallowed half-chewed mouthfuls and ignored the nagging thirst. The only source of water was in the bathroom, and his thirst wasn't worth seeing the dead body that mocked him. Accused him. Blamed him.

Eventually, they finished their meals, but Dabi didn't leave. Instead, he watched them like a bird of prey.

"You, blond," started Dabi with a silky smooth tone that suggested oncoming torment, "tell me your name again."

"Present Mic," said Hizashi stiffly.

"Your god given name," said Dabi, still in a light enough mood to entertain disobedience.

"Yamada," said Hizashi, giving only his surname at first before thinking better of that act of defiance, "Yamada Hizashi."

"Hizashi," murmured Dabi, immediately using the least formal form of address, "I see why Shouta likes you – you're pretty eyes, tanned skin, athletic body – let's have fun together."

Dabi offered a smile before rummaging through his oversized pockets. He sucked his teeth, checked an inner pocket, and then pulled a gun from his coat. Aizawa's heart stopped. His limbs went numb. Just as Dabi aimed the gun towards Hizashi, Aizawa dove forward across the bed. The shot rang in the small room and Aizawa felt the rush of air against his throat as the projectile careened inches from his jugular. There was a thwacking sound and Hizashi groaned in pain behind him. Aizawa whipped around to see a tranquilizer dart wobbling in Hizashi's pectoral muscle.

"Are you okay?" breathed Aizawa, fear still thrumming in his veins. He could see his own heartbeat throbbing in his peripheral vision.

Hizashi – still frozen in shock from the fear of being shot at point blank range – nodded blankly as he stared down at the dart in his chest. He pulled it out with shaking hand and let the needle fall to the floor.

It was the anti-quirk serum, but at least it wasn't a bullet.

"Now we can have fun," said Dabi as he put the dart gun away and rummaged through his pockets for something else. He smiled and said, "Shouta, babe, you were so good for me yesterday. I got you a present."

Aizawa swallowed and his eyelids fluttered when he saw the small object in Dabi's hands. It was a small bottle of lubricant that glistened in the light. Aizawa's heart dropped.

"Don't be frightened, pet," murmured Dabi with light chuckle, "not yet, anyways."

Then, Dabi tossed the bottle of lubricant across the room. It flew in a shallow arc over Aizawa's head and landed perfectly in Hizashi's lap just like the bento. Aizawa's eye widened in apprehension, but Hizashi's head was tilting in confusion.

"You killed the third one, didn't you, Hizashi?" guessed Dabi quietly, making Hizashi sputter, "Or should I call you Hero Killer?"

The evidence was obvious and damning. It didn't take a forensic specialist to understand the blood splatter on Hizashi's face and the broken IV stand dropped next to the body.

Hizashi opened his mouth to defend himself, but Dabi waved away the stammered attempts at an explanation.

"I don't care – I'm not your judge, nor your jury, but I am your potential executioner," murmured Dabi as he took out his phone, "so, you should probably do exactly what I tell you to do."

Aizawa drew his knees up to his chest and pressed his forehead into his kneecaps. He wanted to disappear.

"What do you want?" asked Hizashi quietly.

"I told you already – we're going to have fun together," said Dabi, making Aizawa's stomach flip, "And by that I mean – try not to murder me while I fuck your boyfriend, Hero Killer."

Aizawa swallowed. Color left his face.

"He's already injured," protested Hizashi weakly, "you'll hurt him."

Dabi smirked and said, "That's the point."

Aizawa's temples started to throb with stress. Hadn't he just been through this? Hadn't he been punished enough? The smell of ash preceded Dabi's arrival at his bedside. He didn't look up. He felt gentle fingers brushing through his hair – almost sweet – but those fingers wrapped around the hair at the base of his neck. Dabi yanked Aizawa's hair down to make Aizawa look up, making Aizawa wince. Staring upwards, he saw that bemused smile – those gleaming lifeless eyes – he felt like he couldn't breathe.

"I have plans for us," said Dabi gently, "are you going to play along?"

"Always," whispered Aizawa, hoping Hizashi couldn't hear, but to refuse this man was too terrifying to consider.

Dabi leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss against Aizawa's forehead. His rough lips scraped against Aizawa's thin skin. Dabi's breath was burning hot.

"Good, keep making me happy, Shouta," whispered Dabi, his lips still pressing against Aizawa's forehead as he scooped Aizawa up into his arms. The bed sheet draped around Aizawa, and he felt weightless against Dabi's torso. Dabi sidestepped the center bed and took a few long strides to Hizashi's bedside.

Aizawa refused to look towards Hizashi's expression. The shame would have overwhelmed him – but then Dabi dropped Aizawa in Hizashi's lap and pulled the bed sheets away. The fabric fluttered to the ground, leaving Aizawa completely naked on Hizashi's covered thighs. Both their cheeks and collarbones flushed a deep red. Aizawa barely had time to get used to this before Dabi grabbed his hair again and pulled him down towards the bottom of the bed. Aizawa nearly yelped and reached for his hair as strands were pulled loose between Dabi's fingers.

Dabi pulled until Aizawa ended up on his back, belly up, and completely naked – Aizawa's head at Hizashi's feet – Aizawa's legs strew awkwardly up and around Hizashi's torso. Dabi pulled Aizawa further down the bed until his neck arched and his skull hung upside down over the edge of the bed until he was eye level with Dabi's belt. Aizawa had been in this position before. He knew what Dabi wanted. He could almost feel his lungs suffocating already.

"What are you – don't do this," stammered Hizashi, and Aizawa could feel Hizashi trying shift back and escape the set up that Dabi was creating.

"If you're going to do any prep, do it now," said Dabi as he tested a gentle grip around Aizawa's exposed neck.

"I don't understand," croaked Hizashi, and Aizawa could feel Hizashi legs shaking around his hips.

Dabi unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants.

"The last man I fucked bled out – thought I might try to prevent that this time since Shigaraki would throw a fit," said Dabi casually, "but I'm not a patient man, so you can prep him, or I'll just fuck him dry and see what happens."

Aizawa felt ice-cold terror on his skin and in his veins. Could someone really die from that? How brutal did Dabi have to be to achieve such a terrifying outcome?

Aizawa was starting to realize that his survival had been entirely accidental last time. Wasn't Dabi supposed to in charge while the others were away? Wasn't he supposed to at the very least keep them alive? It seemed like Dabi didn't care much either way. In that moment, Aizawa never thought he could be so desperate for Giran to come back.

"Well?" asked Dabi as he pressed his crotch against Aizawa's upside down face, but Hizashi didn't move, "Maybe your friend needs some encouragement. What do you think, Shouta?"

Dabi's hand hooked around Aizawa's throat. His palm started to get hotter and hotter until the skin itched. He knew that Dabi wanted him to debase himself and put on a show.

"Hizashi…" breathed Aizawa, trying to overcome the embarrassment that caught his tongue and the heat that made his vocal chords ache, but the words didn't come soon enough.

Dabi placed that warm hand in the center of Aizawa's chest. Without warning, Dabi's hand went up in bright blue flames.

"Don't hurt him!" cried out Hizashi.

"Fuck," Aizawa cried out as his quirk activated instinctively, and the fire against his skin went out. He took a shaky breath before trying again – quicker now.

"Hizashi," he started again, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice, "Please help me. Please make it less painful."

"Be specific, babe," muttered Dabi.

Shame made Aizawa's lips purse, but he didn't want to die here. He didn't want Hizashi to die here.

"Hizashi…" started Aizawa awkwardly, his eyes closing as he tried to feel less, "I want your fingers inside of me – I want you to make me wet – please, Hizashi."

Aizawa would have blushed if blood weren't already rushing to his head from being upside down. He could feel Hizashi hesitance.

"Please, you said you wanted to protect me, 'Zashi," begged Aizawa, and he felt fumbling hands starting to move around his hips. He heard the snap of a bottle cap opening. A cool, gelatinous substance dripped haphazardly onto his stomach.

"I'm sorry," whispered Hizashi before one cold, shaking, slippery finger pushed through his entrance.

"Ahh," gasped Aizawa as he shifted uncomfortably.

The lubricant stung Aizawa's raw skin and micro tears. He could feel Hizashi's fingers slipping over ridges deep inside of him – internal scar tissue left by careless men who had been too rough. Aizawa cringed and wanted to close his legs and pull away, but he knew better. He would tolerate the humiliating vulnerability and everything would be okay. Dabi seemed mild and tame at the moment, just brushing his twitching bulge ever so gently against Aizawa's face while Hizashi worked. It was okay. Aizawa could handle this.

He didn't want to risk bringing out that sadistic side he knew all too well.

Aizawa breathed and tried to relax, tried to make Hizashi's task easier. He heard the squirt of additional lube. Another hesitant finger joined the first, and Aizawa flinched at the pressure on existing wounds. Hizashi paused and let Aizawa adjust.

Then Dabi's fingers drifted over Aizawa's mouth, slipped through his chapped lips and pulled his jaw open with a hooked finger. Dabi took out his cock and pressed the tip into Aizawa mouth. It tasted unwashed and ashen, but the thrusts were mercifully shallow.

Aizawa felt Hizashi hesitate when Dabi started using his mouth to pass the time.

"I want you to fuck him, Hero Killer," ordered Dabi as he pumped his hips lazily, "open him up a little more for me."

Aizawa coughed in surprise around Dabi's cock, but the action made Dabi press deeper against Aizawa's gag reflex.

"I can't – I thought you – " stammered Hizashi, and Aizawa could feel Hizashi's fingers trembling as they slipped out of his entrance.

Dabi just laughed and said, "I changed my mind."

Hizashi didn't move.

Dabi's hands drifted over Aizawa's chest and drew lazy circles. He tweaked Aizawa nipples with hard pinches and then pressed both palms flat into the center of Aizawa's torso.

"I don't like repeating myself," murmured Dabi, and Aizawa knew what was coming. He rushed to activate his quirk, but a sharp snap from Dabi's thrusts sent his cock down Aizawa's throat. The bruising, unnatural pain and panic of suffocation made his quirk falter. Dabi's hands started to burn until Aizawa swore he could smell his seared flesh. Aizawa would have screamed if not for the cock blocking his airways. His body thrashed to get away from the scorching pain on his chest, but Dabi was pressing down hard enough to make his ribs bend and ache.

"STOP – I'll do it just stop – please stop!" cried Hizashi panicked voice, and the fire subsided but the burning in his skin kept Aizawa's body flailing like a wounded animal.

Aizawa's vision was white with pain and asphyxiation. Half lucid, his twitching fingers searched his burning skin only to discover painful, bubblng blisters in the center of his chest. He could barely process the sound of Hizashi desperately jerking off and trying to get hard enough to fuck him.

"I'm sorry," moaned Hizashi again, his tone deeper now with a hint of self-loathing, his voice shaking with the effort of his futile masturbation, "I'm so sorry – I'm trying."

Aizawa thought he could feel droplets of tears hitting his stomach. His eyes rolled back as his lungs throbbed. This time, Aizawa hardly recognized his need for air. The blistering pain on his skin drowned out every other physical discomfort. He didn't want to feel that way again.

Hazily, he wished he could reassure Hizashi – tell him that everything would be okay – beg him to make it okay so that Dabi wouldn't burn him again.

He felt Dabi's finger brush against his lips straining and stretching around Dabi's cock. His lips must have been turning blue. It seemed like Dabi liked that sort of thing. His vision was going black. Dabi probably liked that too.

"Time is running out," breathed Dabi softly, and Aizawa heard Hizashi choke back a sob. "Do you want him to die, Hero Killer?"

Aizawa reached blindly for Hizashi's thigh with the last dregs of energy in his body, and squeezed as if to say – _I'll forgive you_.

Perhaps Hizashi understood, because slowly, Hizashi shifted onto his knees and lifted Aizawa's hips up. He lined up with Aizawa's entrance and pushed ever so gently. With a pop, the tip of his half-hard cock slid through the slippery ring of muscle. Stinging pain made Aizawa shudder and jerk despite the prep that Hizashi had done.

Then, Dabi withdrew from Aizawa's throat. Aizawa gasped for breath. His chest heaved to pull in oxygen but the movement made his blistered skin erupt in another fresh wave of pain. With full lungs, Aizawa couldn't stop himself from screaming. The unyielding torture of burnt flesh was more than he could handle. He writhed on Hizashi's cock, hardly noticing that Hizashi was even there.

Dabi knelt down and chuckled in Aizawa's ear. He kissed Aizawa's temple gently.

"My perfect, obedient little whore," whispered Dabi, his voice like gravel and his breath like brimstone, "You want it that badly, huh? You fuck yourself loose on his cock even after I set you on fire. You depraved, nasty slut."

Aizawa was still whining in pain and buckling his body as if he could find a position that would make it hurt less. He barely heard Dabi's cruel words, but he heard a moan slip out of Hizashi's mouth and that almost hurt more than the blisters on his chest.

Dabi noticed the chain of events and laughed softly.

He whispered so that Hizashi couldn't hear, "Sounds like he likes it, Shouta. Keep going, kitten, you were made for this."

Aizawa cringed and turned away. His eyes stung. He tried to still his hips, but his body still twitched and undulated in pain.

"Now look pretty for the camera, babe, and open up," muttered Dabi as he stood up, and Aizawa heard the bell tone that signified the start of a video recording.

Aizawa opened his mouth robotically and took a deep breath, hoping it would be over soon. Dabi immediately sank his cock deep into Aizawa's throat and started a brutal pace that forced Aizawa's hips down on Hizashi's cock. A ripping pain tore through Aizawa that made his hips buck and try to pull away – but he was spit-roasted between them and the fullness was tearing him apart.

Hizashi shuddered and moaned again despite himself when his shaft impaled Aizawa to the hilt over and over again. Hizashi couldn't move back any further – couldn't make his violation any more shallow. His back was pinned against the headboard and Dabi's hips pistoned Aizawa's body into motion. He tried not to move – tried to will his half hard dick not to grow rigid and large within Aizawa's fragile membranes – but his body fell prey to the rapid bouncing of Aizawa's ass against his hips. Hizashi's cock grew and heat coiled in his stomach, but the visions of horror and the sounds of choking made him want to curl up and die. Hizashi closed his eyes and waited for it to end, and Aizawa Enjied to do the same.

Aizawa's flaccid cock bounced on his thighs and stomach. Even if he wanted to, Aizawa couldn't find any pleasure in the pain that ripped him apart and seared his skin. He was fading, and Aizawa barely heard Dabi's voice narrating to the camera through his own sounds of gagging and retching around Dabi's cock.

"I hope you enjoyed the last video, Father," breathed Dabi gently through sharp, angry thrusts, "I'll keep making them for you until I break your toy."

Dabi flexed his hips deeper until Aizawa's teeth cut against his own lips from the pressure of Dabi's pelvic bone.

"I just want to show you, Father, that anything you care about – anything you touch – anyone you get close to – even this filthy, single use whore you fucked on your desk – yeah, I know about that – I'll destroy it – all of it," grunted Dabi with a final thrust before he pulled out and came over Aizawa's face. Hot ropes of cum shot into Aizawa's rolled back eyes and gasping mouth. Oxygen flooded his brain and made him lightheaded. He was so grateful for the end of Dabi's abuse that he could barely even process the crazed rant that Dabi had recorded for – for his father? Someone Aizawa had already fucked?

Then, Dabi slapped Aizawa across the face – hard.

Aizawa saw stars.

By the time his vision cleared, Dabi had ended the video and was buckling his belt.

Hizashi slipped out gently without coming, and Aizawa curled onto his side with a groan of agony. Aizawa barely noticed Hizashi's sobs that shook the bed. The pitiful sounds were the only sounds that broke the silence in the room, and Dabi left without another word.

"It hurts," whined Aizawa as soon as they were alone.

Aizawa's felt Hizashi shuffle out of bed and take the pillow by Aizawa's feet.

"Hold on," croaked Hizashi as he tried to steady himself.

The door to the bathroom opened. He heard the sound of running water and rustling fabric. When Hizashi returned, he held a soaked pillowcase.

"I'm sorry, Aizawa," whispered Hizashi before he laid the cold, damp fabric over Aizawa's burns. The shock of the temperature change made Aizawa gasp, but it was better than the painful heat that lasted under his skin. Aizawa finally looked up and saw Hizashi's tear streaked, splotchy red face.

"Please don't apologize," breathed Aizawa, he didn't want to be pitied. He wanted to brush it under the rug and forget like every other trauma in his life.

But Hizashi wouldn't meet his eyes and continued, "I know you asked – that he made you ask – but I didn't…I shouldn't have."

Aizawa stared at Hizashi for a moment. The pain that warped Hizashi's face just felt foreign and made Aizawa feel inhuman. Aizawa's body was in agony, but his heart and his mind were empty now that the danger was gone. Aizawa was dissociating and couldn't bring himself to feel anything more than a morbid sense of normalcy.

This was his life.

This was how people treated him.

This was normal.

Aizawa reached out for Hizashi's hand and interlaced their fingers. He didn't know what to say, but all that came out was, "it's okay, Hizashi."

Hizashi withdrew his hand and shook his head, "It's not. Nothing is. I – I raped you, Aizawa. I should have fought him – I – I…"

Hizashi's voice broke. He doubled over with his face in his hands as tears started falling again.

Aizawa frowned. Aizawa already had a laundry list of rapists. He didn't need Hizashi adding himself to the list unnecessarily.

"Don't…don't say that," whispered Aizawa softly, "He would have killed you, Hizashi. He would have killed me."

Hizashi's hands clutched in his tangled hair, and he yelled, "I should have died then!"

The shout made Aizawa startle with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry," muttered Hizashi, "I'm sorry."

Aizawa looked away.

"I'm glad it was you instead of Dabi," muttered Aizawa, feeling an odd sense of fear after Hizashi's outburst. He took a deep breath. He didn't want to be afraid. He wanted to dissociate and never come back.

"I thought I could protect you here," said Hizashi softly.

"You can't," whispered Aizawa. Hizashi cared too much, and Aizawa fought tooth and nail not to let that get to him. His defenses were solid. He didn't have to feel this. He didn't –

"I thought our first time would be different," said Hizashi.

An unwanted tear escaped Aizawa's lash line.

Aizawa's dissociation was crumbling. He couldn't think about what could have been. Those wistful thoughts would break him, and Aizawa didn't think he would recover.

"I thought…" muttered Hizashi, but then he stopped, because Aizawa had started to cry.

* * *

Meanwhile, not too far away and unbeknownst to them, the Pro Hero Endeavor felt his phone buzz in his pocket while he worked late on paperwork. He checked the screen and saw that it was from the same unknown number as the day before. Another video file was attached, but this time a message appeared as well:

Unknown: Ignoring me, Father?

And with a scowl, Enji turned off his phone for the night.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: I googled Giran's quirk – technically a spoiler because it's never been shown in the anime, but I don't think it's a huge spoiler given how he's a minor character._

**Chapter 8: Reverie**

_**Noun**_

_**A daydream; a state of being lost in one's thoughts**_

Over the next three days, Aizawa and Hizashi tried to conserve energy. They spent most of their time sleeping and trying to avoid breathing too deeply. Dabi had left Vlad's body in the bathroom, and the stench of rot and decay burned through every single olfactory nerve. It was a thick, blanketing smell that made adaptation impossible. Even breathing through their mouths, the scent clung to their taste buds and stuck in their lungs. They stuffed bed sheets under the crevice of the bathroom door, but the smell and the guilt still seeped through.

"Are you thirsty?" rasped Hizashi from the other bed.

Aizawa rubbed his sandpaper tongue against the roof of his mouth and a jolt of dry pain shot through his sinuses.

Aizawa shook his head no.

"Do you need another cool compress?" asked Hizashi through chapped lips.

Aizawa shook his head no again.

The raised blisters on his chest stung and made his ribs ache, but as much as he wanted relief, he despised the putrid wave of death that came forth like a tidal wave every time they opened the door for water. This made the bathroom trips increasingly infrequent, but at least they had the sink as a water source. Food was a different story all together. Aizawa wished he had rationed his bento box instead of eating the entire thing three days ago. Fortunately, humans could go weeks without food, but it made him weak and slow to heal. One of the blisters had already burst and turned a green-ish yellow as infection set in to the tender flesh.

"Was it like this before?" asked Hizashi softly.

Aizawa blinked once or twice as he tried to process the question in his dreary state.

"Did they leave you alone a lot the last time you were here?" asked Hizashi a little more clearly as he tried to clarify.

Aizawa stared at the ceiling and tried to think. He was in so much pain and so deprived of sustenance – did life exist before this? Memories of Giran's crocodile smile drifted through his vision like mild hallucinations.

_A gentle hand brushed tears off his cheeks and tucked curls behind his ears – a soft kiss placed just so on his aching cheekbone, bruised only moments ago by the same hands that consoled him._

Aizawa exhaled and let the memory go.

"No," muttered Aizawa, "they never left me alone."

Hizashi's momentary silence sounded like the regret of prying too deeply.

"Why?" asked Aizawa, feeling the acute prickling of shame on his skin.

Hizashi tread carefully, sensing the rising tension in the room that came so easily since Dabi had forced them to be intimate three days ago.

"I don't know," confessed Hizashi as his stomach rumbled, "I just thought they might have forgotten about us…left us for dead."

"Wouldn't that be nice," murmured Aizawa.

He didn't want to talk about this.

Only seconds passed before Hizashi started talking again. Aizawa was almost in awe that the man had energy to speak, but at least something remained constant in this isolated world.

Hizashi started carefully and said, "Can I ask you something? I've been wondering – but it didn't seem right to ask after…"

Hizashi trailed off and Aizawa's heart skipped a beat. Nothing good could come after those two sentences.

"Yeah?" asked Aizawa softly.

"You escaped ten years ago…you said that old man thought you were dead, but…" said Hizashi slowly, not wanting to sound accusatory after the way Vlad had persecuted Aizawa in the shower, "How did you do it? Could we…do it again?"

Aizawa bit his lip, knowing that Hizashi was searching for some glimmer of hope in this darkness. He had no hope to offer.

"It was an accident – it's not like I planned to fake my own death," said Aizawa softly, "I gave up trying to escape after almost a year had passed."

Hizashi swallowed thickly when Aizawa paused.

"They took too much blood one day – I passed out, but I don't know what happened after that," muttered Aizawa, as he had long wondered this same exact thing, "Maybe my pulse was too faint or my body too cold…maybe they thought I was dead and tried to dispose of my body. Anyways, I woke up in the Aokigahara forests and…"

Aizawa's voice broke. The confused elation he had felt that day – the freedom and relief felt so impossible that it made the memories physically painful. Aizawa felt no hope now. He doubted they would make the same mistake twice.

"And?" prompted Hizashi gently, his tone echoing a similar feeling of defeat.

Aizawa sighed.

"I wandered back into the city, hid in my apartment, and prayed to the gods that they would never find me again," finished Aizawa. He waited awkwardly, wondering if Hizashi believed him. Vlad surely hadn't.

There was a moment of silence before Hizashi replied.

"I wish I had been there for you," said Hizashi softly, and the kindness made Aizawa frown. That would have been nice. Maybe if he had told someone – anyone – he wouldn't have suffered so much over the past ten years. Maybe he wouldn't be suffering now. The what-ifs made him sad, and Aizawa never replied. He only coughed through the dryness in his throat and turned away so that Hizashi couldn't see his eyes start to water.

"Are you thirsty?" asked Hizashi again.

"Let's wait a little longer," said Aizawa. He wanted water desperately, but he'd rather keep that door closed. The smell of decay on the other side of that cold metal barrier was just an unwanted reminder of their inevitable fates.

"Okay," said Hizashi, because he would eagerly put up with his own thirst to give this one sliver of control back to Aizawa.

* * *

On the fourth day since Dabi's last visit, the door to their prison opened once more. Aizawa and Hizashi both startled at the grating sound of metal on metal. Their necks bent to see who was coming to torment them next, but the visitors remained outside.

"Are you fucking kidding me," wheezed Shigaraki's voice when the rancid air from the room poured into the hall, "what is that?"

"What?" asked Dabi from the hall. His voice made Aizawa's heart race.

"That god awful smell, Dabi, obviously," said Shigaraki's muffled voice.

"Dead body," answered Dabi nonchalantly, as if they were discussing the weather.

Upon hearing those words, Shigaraki rushed into the room with his nose and mouth buried in the fabric of his sweater. His frantic eyes darted through the room until he spotted Aizawa in the far bed in the corner.

"I told you not to kill any of them," hissed Shigaraki.

Dabi entered the room with his hands in his pockets.

"I didn't," said Dabi with a bemused smile, "the blonde one did it."

Shigaraki's narrowed eyes shifted quickly between Dabi and Hizashi. Hizashi and Aizawa both sat frozen like deer in headlights. The wait between Shigaraki's revelation and response felt like an eternity.

"It was an accident," whispered Hizashi, his gaze averted.

Shigaraki's brows twitched before he cursed under his breath, "I can't – I just fucking can't."

Shigaraki took a halting breath and sighed.

"Whatever, we have an extra, just burn the body," ordered Shigaraki before he gestured impatiently towards Aizawa, "Get up. Let's go."

Aizawa nodded and obeyed without protest. Slowly but surely, he pulled his torso upright and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Aizawa hardly registered the fact that he was naked as he stood before his impatient audience. He took one step forward, but without the support of the bed, he swayed and collapsed onto his knees. When his stomach rumbled loudly, he clutched his abdomen in pain and curled over to ease the discomfort. The rumbling stopped, and Aizawa tried to stand again.

"I'm coming," Aizawa promised weakly as his muscles faltered again – a false promise, perhaps – but the cracks on his hips and the burns on his chest offered motivation that made him try harder.

Shigaraki watched the fruitless attempts before exhaling a slow, exasperated sigh.

"Dabi," he started slowly, like the calm before the storm, "Pray tell me - when was the last time you fed him?"

Dabi sucked his teeth before muttering, "about four days or so…"

"Are you an idiot?" asked Shigaraki softly – a crazed smile blossoming on his chapped lips that hardly masked his boiling rage, "How can we draw blood if he hasn't eaten in four days?"

Dabi just shrugged and said, "I dropped out before bio."

Shigaraki's fingers twitched in anger and blood lust.

"I'll fucking kill you," said Shigaraki sweetly as he started to scratch at his neck in agitation. He then listed his orders slowly and plainly as if talking to a child, "Burn the body. Bring them food. Three square meals a day. Do you understand? Do I need to write that down?"

"Whatever," grunted Dabi – a hint of anger set between his brows.

Shigaraki raised his middle finger. His crazed smile never waivered, and then Shigaraki left with a slam of the door on his way out.

Dabi sighed and raked his fingers through his shock of black hair.

"Fucking asshole…" he muttered.

Hizashi and Aizawa kept their eyes carefully fixated on the floor. The tension in the air was still palpable and both feared a sudden outburst of redirected anger.

"Well, I guess we'll be seeing more of each other, Shouta," said Dabi as he made his way to the bathroom door.

Aizawa's stomach flipped at the thought. He would rather starve.

When Dabi opened the bathroom door, a wave of putrid air made Hizashi and Aizawa gag. Dabi lifted one hand and shot forth a roaring blast of blue inferno. The sound was deafening and the heat made Aizawa sweat out the little water he had left. When the fire finally stopped, ash blew back into the bedroom like a sandstorm. The temperature difference had created a back draft that carried Vlad's cremated ashes through the air. Hizashi and Aizawa coughed and covered their airways to avoid breathing in the remains of their late acquaintance. The ash settled over every surface, and Aizawa thought he might be sick, but his stomach had nothing to churn but painfully acidic bile.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Dabi brushed the ash out of his eyes and spit a few times to clear the ash from his mouth. Aizawa got the feeling that he had done this before.

"Wait here, darling," said Dabi before leaving to follow Shigaraki's remaining orders.

Dabi returned quickly with the same Kabukicho convenience store junk food, electrolyte replenishing drinks, and protein bars high in iron. He ordered Aizawa to eat and drink until he could no longer do either, and then sat in Vlad's empty bed to keep watch. Perhaps Dabi had been warned of Aizawa's old hunger strikes ten years ago, but Aizawa had gotten over that rebellious streak. This time, Aizawa just ate as slowly as possible, fearing what was to come once he finished eating.

Aizawa sat curled up back in bed as he took small bites of a flavorless Soy Joy protein bar in between small swigs of his Pocari Sweat sports drink. Aizawa's rising blood sugar made him a little light headed. He stared at his half eaten protein bar and felt sick, but he knew that if he stopped eating – Dabi would pounce. Every time Aizawa looked up, he could see Dabi's piercing, patient gaze. Aizawa forced himself to take another bite. He was determined to draw this out before he was forced to endure another round of whatever hell Dabi had planned. Just thinking about it made his blisters sting. And so he took another bite.

And another.

What else could Dabi do to him?

Another sip.

How much more could his body withstand?

Another bite.

Maybe death would greet him mercifully.

And then his bar was finished.

Aizawa reached with a shaky hand to open a packet of iron rich dried seaweed, but Dabi was already standing and adjusting his collar. Aizawa swallowed thickly as his heart started to race. His body tensed. In the corner of his periphery he could see Hizashi withdrawing into himself as well.

Dabi laughed at their reactions before sitting at the edge of Aizawa's bed. The frame creaked under his weight and the tension on the fabric made Aizawa's covers slip off his torso – exposing the red burns that littered Aizawa's pale white skin. Dabi extended one slender finger to trace the outlines of the burns on Aizawa's skin. The touch was so gentle that it made Aizawa shiver involuntarily.

Dabi traced his fingers up Aizawa's neck and jawline. He gently pulled Aizawa's chin to the side to get a better look. Aizawa's eyelids fluttered under the pressure of maintaining eye contact despite his fear. Dabi pressed his rough lips against the nearest corner of Aizawa's mouth. He stayed there for a moment and Aizawa felt hot, ashen breath cascade over his skin.

Keeping his lips hovering over Aizawa's skin, Dabi whispered, "Don't be scared, kitten, I won't hurt you – not right now."

Aizawa's heart skipped a beat. Dabi always hurt him.

"I have a surprise for you," whispered Dabi as he nuzzled his nose against Aizawa's cheek, "It pained me to be away from you for so many days, but I hope you'll forgive me when you see what I've done."

Aizawa's mouth was dry. He didn't know what to say – or if Dabi wanted him to say anything at all. Every ominous statement made it harder and harder to think clearly.

Then Dabi stood suddenly, grabbed Aizawa's wrist, and pulled him off the bed in one fluid motion. Aizawa nearly topped over, but Dabi swung Aizawa into his arms like a newly wed bride. He carried Aizawa to the door before looking over his shoulder and saying, "I'll have him back by midnight – don't wait up."

"Hizashi," called Aizawa as his words started working the moment he realized he was being taken away from his only source of comfort. Aizawa craned his neck to see Hizashi, but he couldn't see past Dabi's broad shoulders.

"Aizawa!" called Hizashi – a panicked plea.

Aizawa arched in Dabi's arms, trying desperately to fill his senses with one last good image before enduring the horrors that awaited him – but the door shut behind them and Dabi was already whisking him down the hall. Aizawa shut his eyes tight. He knew that it wasn't time to draw blood. It was too soon after eating and his body couldn't handle the blood loss right now.

Dabi approached the elevator and hit the up button. It didn't take long for the elevator to arrive, and Aizawa tried to steady his breath as the elevator doors shut. He didn't like change. Change meant new methods of torture. When the elevator doors opened, Aizawa's inhaled sharply.

He knew this hallway.

"What is this?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"Feeling nostalgic?" asked Dabi with a hint of amusement.

Aizawa stared down the length of the hall. He would have recognized that gaudy carpet for the rest of his life. He had spent months staring down at those dizzying octahedral patterns while he was dragged back and forth between his living quarters and the sterile room designated for blood withdrawal. Dabi meandered down the hall and stopped at the seventh door on the right – the door that held him prisoner ten years ago.

Aizawa's heart sank.

"Not here," protested Aizawa softly, resisting the urge to squirm out of Dabi's arms and run away. As if he could run right now on these wobbly legs, "Why are we here? Please take me back."

Aizawa couldn't help the requests that tumbled out of his mouth, pulled forth by the event horizon of the darkness behind that door.

"I told you – it's a surprise," said Dabi as he opened the door.

They stepped inside and Aizawa felt as if he had been catapulted back through time. This godforsaken windowless room hadn't changed at all in the past decade – the olive green walls were still cracked and peeling. The too small and too lumpy futon was still covered in matching olive green sheets. Aizawa had despised that color for the last ten years. Worse yet were the tally marks carved into the walls that only accounted for about a sixth of Aizawa's captivity before he finally stopped keeping track.

Aizawa closed his eyes.

He remembered the day he stopped counting – the day that broke him in this very room.

"I found old pictures of what this room used to look like," said Dabi cheerfully, "do you like my renovations? I thought you might feel more at home in a more familiar setting."

Dabi nuzzled Aizawa's cheek with his nose again, and Aizawa turned his head away.

He grit his teeth against painful memories threatening to resurface. He didn't want to give Dabi the satisfaction – but visions of the past filtered through his consciousness anyways and brought him back to that fateful day.

* * *

"_Don't look at me like that," bit Aizawa – a scowl cutting across his youthful visage – a fighting spirit still left in his heart._

"_Like what?" asked Giran – his hair less grey and his skin less worn – almost handsome as he lit a new cigarette across the room. He leaned against the far wall while Aizawa struggled to change the bandages on his arms, having already rejected Giran's help more than once._

_Aizawa grumbled when he met Giran's smiling eyes – eyes that watched his every move and made him feel vulnerable and small._

"_Like that," snarled Aizawa, "it's gross."_

_Giran chuckled and kept staring. _

_Aizawa fumbled with the bandages and tried to use his teeth to help tie the loose ends, but the bandages snapped and unraveled. Aizawa cursed under his breath and Giran sighed before tucking the cigarette behind his ear._

"_Let me help you," muttered Giran as he held the cigarette in his lips and walked forward to take Aizawa's arms in his hands. Aizawa moved to jerk his arms out of Giran's grasp, but Giran had a strong, firm grip. Giran worked quickly, and then used his own teeth to pull the bandage taut. All the while, his intense, soul-probing eye contact hardly wavered. His lips brushed Aizawa's sore wrists, and Aizawa yanked his arms back sharply to free himself from the older man._

"_Stop doing things like that," growled Aizawa as he turned away and tried not to let his fear show. He had been safe for two months, aside from the forced blood donations, but Giran grew more daring each and every Giran placed a large hand on Aizawa's shoulder, Aizawa nearly jumped out of his skin._

"_You should get some sleep," said Giran._

"_I will," said Aizawa curtly. He didn't want to lie down with Giran in the room._

"_Unless you're not tired," said Giran before he spun Aizawa around and caught Aizawa's forearm. Giran held Aizawa's arm up against the wall over Aizawa's head and waited for Aizawa to stop struggling._

"_Let go of me, pervert," Aizawa demanded as he tried to wrench his arm free._

_Giran towered over him with an unassuming smile that danced on his lips. Giran looked like he was enjoying himself too much, and it made Aizawa's stomach flip._

_Then, Giran leaned forward and caught Aizawa's lips in a chaste kiss. Aizawa snarled and bit Giran's lower lip, drawing blood. The metallic taste flooded Aizawa's taste buds and Giran pulled away with a break in his ever-present smile. A string of bloody red spit connected their mouths. _

"_If that's how you feel," grumbled Giran as he wiped his mouth with the pocket square from his suit._

"_I'd rather die," spat Aizawa as he wiped his own mouth on his fresh bandages._

"_You can't die a virgin," chastised Giran, "That would be a waste of a pretty face."_

"_Shut up," growled Aizawa. His cheeks stung with embarrassment._

"_You are though, aren't you, Shouta?" asked Giran playfully._

"_Don't ask people such inappropriate questions," barked Aizawa a little too loudly, his voice echoing awkwardly in the small space. He didn't like this obsession with his virginity. Aizawa had encountered guys like this before and avoided them like the plague. He was just waiting for the right moment with the right person – and this definitely wasn't it._

"_You're a little old to be a virgin," murmured Giran, leaning in to whisper in Aizawa's ear, "Let's change that."_

_Aizawa sputtered and blushed a furious red._

_Without another word, Giran's free hand hooked through Aizawa's belt loop. He yanked Aizawa forward until their bodies were flush against each other. Aizawa panicked and spit in disgust. Saliva shot across Giran's jaw and shoulder. Aizawa barely had time to regret his decision before Giran backhanded him across the temple and sent Aizawa reeling into the futon. Aizawa landed with a soft thud. He groaned in pain and held the side of his aching skull._

_Giran followed Aizawa down to the futon. He pried open Aizawa's legs and settled between Aizawa's thighs. Aizawa snarled like a wild animal and crunched forward in an attempt to head butt Giran. Giran just palmed Aizawa's forehead and slammed him back into the futon._

"_Relax," breathed Giran as his muscles strained to keep Aizawa pinned, but Aizawa would do no such thing. He used all of his energy to try and throw Giran off of him, but it was no use. Aizawa started to panic and changed tactics._

"_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't do this," clamored Aizawa as his kicks became more futile. Months of constant blood loss had made him weak, and Giran was much bigger than him. Aizawa's lithe and flexible body was built for evasive maneuvers and speed. He was no match against a body honed by decades of heavy lifting at the gym – Aizawa tried desperately, but there was just no way he could wrestle against the brute strength holding him in place. _

_Giran ripped away Aizawa's pants easily, and Aizawa's last spurt of adrenaline surged through his muscles. _

"_Fuck you!" he cursed. _

_Aizawa flailed, spat, bit, kicked, and shouted obscenities, but it was no use. Finally, with a few quick movements, Giran's knees and ankles had immobilized Aizawa's legs. Giran held both of Aizawa's wrists tightly in one hand. _

"_It'll hurt more if you struggle," advised Giran as he kissed down Aizawa's bucking torso._

"_Get off of me you sick bastard!" shouted Aizawa._

_Giran chuckled into Aizawa abdomen as he tore open the center seam of Aizawa's boxer briefs. Then, Giran used his free hand to retrieve a half empty bottle of lube from his pockets and lathered his fingers in the viscous substance._

_The obscene squirting sounds made Aizawa's eyes widen in fear and his bravado cracked._

"_No, no, no, please don't," whined Aizawa at an embarrassingly high pitch as fear constricted his vocal chords, "Giran, please stop."_

"_It's cute how nervous you are for your first time, Shouta," said Giran as his slippery fingers trailed up Aizawa's thighs. He slid his fingers along Aizawa's crack and perineum. Aizawa's muscles twitched involuntarily and Giran smiled, "just try to relax."_

_Aizawa clenched his teeth and shut his eyes, completely unable to relax as Giran kissed his ribcage and left hickies trailing his torso. Suddenly, Giran sank two fingers into Aizawa's entrance with ease._

"_No, ahh, don't do that," gasped Aizawa as the fingers stretched him open. No one had ever touched him there before. Giran's fingers twisted and sank a bit deeper._

"_Are you sure?" asked Giran, wiggling his fingers and making Aizawa gasp._

"_Yes," spat Aizawa, and Giran smirked._

"_If you're that eager to move on, I won't complain," chuckled Giran, and Aizawa's eyes blew wide._

_Giran withdrew his fingers and immediately shifted his hips forward to wedge his cock between Aizawa's cheeks._

"_I'll kill you," threatened Aizawa. This couldn't be his first time. Not with this piece of shit, "I swear to god I'll kill you."_

"_I'm not a god fearing man, Shouta," breathed Giran as he swirled his hips to massage Aizawa's entrance with the tip of his cock. Every so often, the tip pressed a little too hard and nearly slipped past Aizawa's defenses. Each time, Aizawa yelped in discomfort and tried to shift away from Giran's ministrations. Eventually, Giran pressed a little harder and his cock popped through the tight ring of muscle._

"_That hurts," gasped Aizawa. The girth stung as his membranes stretched and the humiliation made his eyes water._

_Giran ignored him and sank deeper. _

_Aizawa whined in pain. "Stop," he begged, weaker this time._

_Giran paused for a moment before drawing back to the tip, only to thrust back in a moment later. He set a slow and steady pace meant to ease Aizawa into the act, but the odd sensation was impossible to get used to. _

"_Just – just slow down," whimpered Aizawa, and Giran's focused gaze softened slightly._

_The older man obliged and changed his angle. Aizawa gasped when Giran hit something sensitive and good inside of him. Every thrust his that magic little spot, and Aizawa started to blush despite himself. He scrunched his eyes shut and bit his lower lip against the warmth that bubbled up in his groin. He didn't want to give Giran the satisfaction. But when Giran thrust harder against that something sensitive deep inside of him, Aizawa couldn't stop his hips from flexing down in search of that bright hint of pleasure. He almost didn't mind the pain – and he hated himself for that, but if only for a moment Aizawa forgot that self-loathing._

"_Giran," gasped Aizawa involuntarily as shocks of arousal raced through his abdomen. _

_A part of him was horrified by the sounds that had escaped his lips and the blood rushing to his manhood. He looked up to see Giran's wide, satisfied grin beneath piercing eyes. Giran grabbed Aizawa's half hard cock and Aizawa's breath hitched unevenly. _

"_At least your body remembers me," murmured Giran, "it's almost a shame to make you forget – but it's worth it to experience your innocence anew each time."_

"_What are you saying?" breathed Aizawa as his body arched and submitted to the unyielding pleasure._

"_Until next time, Shouta," whispered Giran as he started to pump his hips a little faster – making Aizawa squirm with unease around his hardening girth. Giran brought his fingers up to Aizawa's bruised temple and brushed his fingertips gently over the discolored skin._

_Something was changing. Something felt different._

_Aizawa felt woozy, and his mind started to cloud over._

"_Something's wrong," he mumbled, but he had already forgotten what he was talking about. Aizawa shook his head and tried to clear the fog that was settling over his memories. What was that fullness in his abdomen? Was someone fucking him? Aizawa's vision swam and forgot the face hovering over him every time he blinked. Every thought that drifted through his mind left just as quickly, until Aizawa's sense of self began to fade away into a haze of forgetfulness and compliance. _

_Deep down, Aizawa recalled some old memory – like a dream beneath the fog, he thought he could remember – a voice far away that screamed at him, begging him to fight Giran's quirk._

_With his last string of conscious thought and will power – he activated his own quirk in a desperate attempt to stay in touch with reality. _

_Aizawa's eyes smoldered a soft, barely there red, but the effect was enough to gain back some element of control over his own mind. He remembered the danger he was in as the cock in his ass continued to split him open. Aizawa's eye flared brighter as he twisted his head away from Giran's touch._

"_You asshole," accused Aizawa drearily, anger and fear lacing through his still clouded mind. He had thought that Giran was quirkless. There were more pressing matters at hand. What did Giran mean when he said that Aizawa's body remembered him? That he made him forget? He couldn't think clearly enough to figure it all out._

"_You broke through my amnesia?" mused Giran, his eyebrows raised in surprise, "That's a first."_

_Giran moved to touch Aizawa's temples again, but Aizawa's eyes flashed brightly and remained that stunning red until Giran's hand receded. _

"_What did you do to me?" demanded Aizawa. His head was throbbing like he had a nasty hangover. His legs ached as the joints were spread at odd angles. Why was he laying like this again?_

_The ceiling kept moving above him, making it hard to think through the nausea. _

"_What did you – " he repeated before a particularly painful thrust made him cringe. _

_The fast pace was starting to hurt as the lubricant dried out and the friction made his skin hot._

"_You haven't figured it out yet?" breathed Giran through jolting thrusts, "When I activate my quirk, I can make you forget the past five minutes, and then the following five minutes as well. I call it Muddiness – from what you're feeling now, I'm sure you understand."_

_Aizawa frowned – that was a dangerous quirk for a villain to have._

_Just as Aizawa felt like he was piecing the puzzle together, Giran shifted the angle of entry. Those dizzying stabs of pleasure stopped, and now there was only pain._

"_Slow down," whined Aizawa again. _

"_You get so tight when you're upset, not that I mind, but you know that makes it worse for you," murmured Giran in Aizawa's ear. His breath was hot and humid, "I guess you don't remember those times."_

"_Those times?" breathed Aizawa softly. Something stung in Aizawa's soul – a confusing, unreasonable worry._

"_Do I need to spell it out for you?" whispered Giran after catching his breath, "you haven't been a virgin for months – but it's so fun to pretend each and every time."_

_Aizawa's heart stopped._

"_That's not – " he started, "it's not possible –"_

_A stray tear trailed down his temple and Giran kissed the salt water away._

"_You don't usually cry," murmured Giran between grunts. His hips pistoned deeper and made Aizawa call out, "but you look beautiful when you do, Shouta."_

"_How many times," cried Aizawa._

_Giran just chuckled, taking pleasure in Aizawa's mounting distress. _

"_Answer me," begged Shouta as the tears flowed faster with Giran's increasingly brutal assault._

"_A dozen times, maybe more? I couldn't keep track after the first few, but I fucked you a week after you got here," grunted Giran, seemingly intent on making Aizawa cry harder, because the answer ripped through Aizawa like a knife and made him start sobbing uncontrollably. _

_The cold reality was that Aizawa didn't matter – his first time didn't matter and this time didn't matter either – his body and mind didn't matter in the slightest unless it could provide Giran pleasure or wealth. The smallness overwhelmed Aizawa and he stopped trying to fight back. He went limp beneath Giran and didn't even notice when Giran let his legs and arms go free. There was no point in fighting – no dignity to protect. It had already been taken and soiled and discarded like trash. All he could do was cry and wait for it to be over. _

_He didn't notice when Giran finally came deep inside of him. He hardly noticed when Giran pulled out and muttered sweet nothings in his ear. Aizawa kept crying long after Giran left. He cried and cried until he finally fell asleep, and then cried again when he woke up in the morning._

* * *

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Shouta," said Dabi, and Aizawa blinked a few times to clear his thoughts. For a moment, he could have sworn that he had heard Giran's voice instead of Dabi's.

"It's nothing," muttered Aizawa – the past didn't matter anymore, "thank you for the room."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: Nepenthe**

_Noun: Something that makes you forget your suffering_

Aizawa's starvation headache intensified in the dim flickering lights. How long had it been since he had eaten? Days? The vomit colored olive green walls made his empty stomach churn. The bed sheets itched. The futon made his spine ache. The lack of ventilation made the air stale and thick and hard to breathe. He blinked once, and the brief sensory deprivation made him sway towards the floor – only sitting up straight again when his eyelids reopened. His gaze slid back to the looming figure in the shadows – all wire and heat and death. This man that called himself Dabi – this man who seemed to take the most sadistic pleasure in tormenting Aizawa in all ways – stalked toward Aizawa now like a beast in the woods. Closer and closer until Aizawa could smell the ash of his skin and feel the warmth radiating from his core from only a few feet away.

Dabi paused at the outskirts of the futon, allowing just enough time for Aizawa's dazed thoughts to wander in the false safety of suspense.

Long ago, Aizawa would have wondered: _What is it about me that calls monsters forth from the darkness in men?_

But he no longer wondered. There were no more questions. He had accepted his fate and his role in these power dynamics over a decade ago. The carnal desires of men no longer shocked him. It didn't matter who, or how, or when, or where, or how many – rather it was the violence itself that still scared Aizawa. He found no pleasure in pain.

Truthfully, Aizawa would rather die than experience Dabi's excruciating, mind numbing sadism for the rest of his foreseeable future. Just like last time – the reprieve of death called to him…but no, not this time…this time, there were people and things that Aizawa couldn't let go of…

_Hizashi's smile came to mind as bright as the sun, and Hizashi's laughter like a ghost whispering in his ears._

_Visions of Aizawa's parents, worrying in the countryside when the news reached their quaint little town. They were too old to suffer through this – if news came that he had died a horrible…no, Aizawa couldn't imagine breaking their old hearts. Not this time around. _

_And his cats – oh god, Aizawa hoped that someone remembered his three beautiful little kittens. Midnight would remember…she would take them in…_

Searing pain struck Aizawa across the face, so brutal and quick that his cheekbone felt like it might crack open again then and there. His eyes watered on impact and clenched shut, but he forced one eye open to look at the man who had just hit him.

"Don't pass out before the party starts," said Dabi mere inches from Aizawa face.

Aizawa just nodded, unable to dissociate as he waited for the next strike.

Dabi straightened and began to disrobe. Of course this was coming next. His heart began to race and thump in his tightening chest. Aizawa's vision turned to pinpricks as he struggled to catch his breath. Panic gripped his rabbit heart as he thought of all the ways Dabi liked to hurt him. That was the worst part – not the violation, but the pain. Aizawa couldn't stand the bleeding and bruising and suffocating and burning – all for the pleasure of this man.

At least Giran had kept him somewhat clean and healthy ten years ago. At least Giran didn't let anyone else touch him. Thinking these thoughts, the words slipped out entirely of their own volition:

"Giran won't let you do this," murmured Aizawa – and regret swept through his stomach immediately.

Dabi just smiled as he unbuckled his belt and snapped the leather in his hands. Aizawa swallowed and blinked though his hazy tunnel vision. The room swam and jolted with each snap of the leather. He hadn't considered whipping. Aizawa was sure he would pass out if Dabi whipped him, but the universe was kind and Dabi dropped the belt on the floor. Dabi then dropped his jacket, and removed his undershirt as well. Dabi kicked off his heavy boots and started to laugh. It was an unnatural sound – and the words that followed made Aizawa's cheeks burn.

"Missing your first rapist, huh?" jeered Dabi.

Aizawa winced. He wouldn't have put it that way, but could he really deny that he would rather be at Giran's mercy right now?

"Aren't you supposed to be drawing blood?" asked Aizawa, but there were no right answers.

"Oh, so you want me to make you bleed this time?" asked Dabi with a suggestive wink.

Aizawa just shook his head as he watched the man stretch in nothing but slim fitting black joggers. Aizawa winced at how the piercings stretched between mutilated and healthy flesh. Dabi's muscled form rippled like a jungle cat – his toned abdomen only served to remind Aizawa of the brutal pace that Dabi was oh so capable of setting.

And so, when Dabi knelt down on the futon next to Aizawa and pulled his phone out of his pocket, Aizawa felt something shrivel inside of him. There was nothing good about being in close proximity with Dabi, but everything was always worse when he decided to record their activities. Aizawa felt his mouth go dry. It was sick. Who watched these videos? Why hadn't they come to the rescue? Or were they fucked up enough to enjoy the torture porn that Dabi made? Perhaps Aizawa could have ignored those questions, but one question ate away at him, and it tumbled out of his dehydrated, delirious lips once more before he could stop himself:

"Who watches those videos?"

The words hung heavy in the stale air, quiet and full of dread.

"My father," muttered Dabi, the gleeful light in his eyes dimming for only a moment.

Aizawa remembered as much.

"The man you fucked," spat Dabi, his eyes growing darker, "you dirty fucking slut."

Dabi's words shot forth like arrows coated in venom. His tone grew heated and his features twisted in rage.

"Did you like having that evil bastard come up your ass and use you like a disposable fuck toy?"

Aizawa's eyes were wide, his chest painfully tight with spiraling anxiety. With every accusatory question, Dabi leaned closer, and Aizawa backed up until his shoulder bladed pressed into the wall.

"I don't know who you're talking about," whispered Aizawa, his breath caught in his throat as fear constricted his lungs.

"Don't you?" spat Dabi. His hand rushed towards Aizawa's throat and the pressure made Aizawa choke and gasp for air.

"Just tell me," croaked Aizawa, his fingers twitched in the sheets, but he knew better than to try and pry Dabi's fingers off his airways.

"Don't you see the family resemblance?" asked Dabi darkly, but Aizawa couldn't focus as his blood pressure dropped, "My wonderful father…the number two Pro-Hero…wife beater and child abuser, beloved and adored by the masses."

Aizawa's eyes widened in shock, and Dabi released his grip. Aizawa gasped and coughed and shook his head in denial.

"That's not possible," rasped Aizawa with his first breath.

_The Todoroki family was infamous. A twenty something old son of Endeavor couldn't vanish – couldn't become a villain – the media would have…would have…_

Thoughts raced through Aizawa's fear-addled, nutrition starved brain as he tried to connect the dots. Dabi had accused his father of abuse. Dabi had accused his father of evil. Dabi had accused his father of ignoring his violent, pornographic videos. It didn't make any sense, but three things rang true: Enji was a secretive man, Enji was a proud man, and Dabi's eyes were all too familiar now that he could place those clear blue irises.

"So I'll ask you again," murmured Dabi as he traced a too hot finger down Aizawa's bare, naked chest, "Did you enjoy getting fucked by my father?"

Aizawa shook his head, ever so slightly, starting to come to terms with the danger he was in.

"A selfish lover then? That piece of shit didn't make you come?" spat Dabi.

Aizawa shook his head again – he was starting to sweat. Dabi was emanating heat so intense that Aizawa thought they would both burst into flames.

"What went wrong, dearest?" he asked with a sneer, "Being star struck didn't do it for you? Getting fucked by the rich and famous wasn't enough for you?"

Aizawa's voice was caught in his throat. Dabi's fingertips trailed back up Aizawa's chest and pressed into his trachea, a very clear warning and demand to answer his questions without hesitation.

"It- it didn't feel good," said Aizawa with a flush spreading over his cheeks. The absurdity of the conversation was not lost on him, but the threat of fire and pain made him quick to admit that Endeavor had been much too big and much too aggressive.

"Aw babe, did daddy dearest hurt you, too?" rumbled Dabi. He slid his hands between Aizawa's naked, tightly clenched thighs. "It sounds like we have more in common than I thought." Dabi's nails dug into the soft flesh as he wrenched Aizawa's legs open. "Did you tell him to stop? Or did you like being split open for a top pro-hero?"

"I don't – I didn't – we were making a deal – "

_Wrong answer._

Aizawa was cut off when Dabi grabbed his throat again and shoved him onto his back with alarming force. Aizawa coughed at the pressure on his windpipe, but it was immediately forgotten when he felt Dabi slide up through his parted legs. Still clothed in soft joggers, Aizawa shuddered when he felt Dabi's hardening length pressing in his bruised inner thigh.

"You really are just a dumb whore playing at being a hero," murmured Dabi. Dabi's fingers stroked down Aizawa's shivering belly and through his sweaty, damp pubic hair until he reached Aizawa's puckered entrance. "How much to finger your asshole, huh?" he asked before sinking one dry finger down to the knuckle in a single, cruel motion.

Aizawa convulsed and buckled at the sudden, painful violation. His rim burned with friction, and Dabi's jagged, unkempt nail stabbed at his insides.

"How much for two fingers?" asked Dabi causally before shoving in a second dry finger, ignoring the protesting muscle and skin. He scissored his fingers open to the fullest extent and watched Aizawa writhe in pain. Dabi chuckled, "Or do you go by the hour?"

Aizawa shook as his body strained to accommodate the widespread fingers. Then, without warning, Dabi yanked out his fingers, leaving Aizawa feeling raw and on edge.

"Isn't it funny that the Top Hero hasn't replied?" murmured Dabi as he entered the passcode on his phone. "You've been here for weeks. Shouldn't he have rescued you by now?"

Aizawa's lower lip trembled. He knew Enji had a bad reputation, but he refused to believe…

"I'm sure my face is all over the news along with my colleagues – he knows my face, these scars, and he knows I'm with you," said Dabi quietly. "What a fucking sorry excuse for a hero, don't you think?"

"You're lying," said Aizawa weakly.

"We'll see," murmured Dabi, his eyes growing distant as he considered something new, "you know…if our previous adventures haven't kept his attention…" Dabi trailed off and Aizawa's heart skipped a beat. And then, Dabi did something unexpected.

He pulled Aizawa's thighs up in the crooks of his elbows, and Aizawa was forced to balance on his shoulders with his ass in the air. Then, before Aizawa could comprehend the turning tides, Dabi's long, burning hot tongue was probing at Aizawa's tightly wound entrance.

"A-ah!" gasped Aizawa in sheer discomfort at the attention being given to his abused ring of muscle. Viscous spit and willpower allowed Dabi's tongue to quickly penetrate Aizawa's defenses. Hot puffs of breath and Dabi's warm hands on his gluteal muscles made Aizawa relax against his will. And that ungodly long tongue – it was making Aizawa's breath hitch and his heart skip. Flushed and ashamed, Aizawa's flaccid cock twitched once. The half-hearted response did not go unnoticed, and Dabi smiled against the curves of Aizawa's parted cheeks. He dragged his rough tongue up Aizawa's perineum, between his balls, and up Aizawa's soft length. Dabi sucked Aizawa into in mouth and swirled his tongue with expert precision.

"Wha – why are you – " stuttered Aizawa. His cheeks burned. His heart hammered. His body – so depraved of any earthy pleasure – so tortured, burned, and beaten – began to respond to Dabi's efforts in earnest. Aizawa started to whine as his cock stiffened in Dabi's furnace of a mouth. It was too hot. He thought he might melt as rivulets of saliva dripped down his balls like lava.

Dabi didn't respond as he left Aizawa's straining cock with a loud pop. The cold air shocked Aizawa's senses, but Dabi's warm hands wrapped around his shaft as Dabi's tongue returned to Aizawa's hole. With Dabi's free hand, he reached into his back pocket and retrieved the half-used bottle of lube. Aizawa spotted the bottle in the corner of his eye and his stomach dropped. He didn't want to think about how the rest of that bottle had been emptied.

The pain and guilt on Hizashi's face would haunt him forever, and Aizawa felt himself starting to get soft again.

"Hard to please, aren't you, pet?" muttered Dabi the one moment his tongue left Aizawa's rim, having felt Aizawa go soft, "Surprising given your low standards and slutty reputation."

And then his tongue was delving into Aizawa's crevices once more.

"NNhhg," whined Aizawa as his back shivered, pleasure racing into his core. No one had touched him like this since…since…well, no one had even touched him like this. He had never asked any of his lovers. No one had ever offered. The thought made his stomach twist, cold ice and pleasurable fire swirled in his stomach, fighting for dominance as Dabi out paced his shame and confusing thoughts. And then Dabi's mouth was around his cock head again, his tongue flicking at the sensitive underside, his fingers twirling gently around his balls, one stray, slippery finger pressing against his loosened hole.

"Ah!" gasped Aizawa as Dabi sank his lubricated finger in – ever so slowly this time. He worked his mouth in time with his thrusting finger, and Aizawa thought he would pass out from the heat, the pleasure, and the disorienting shame of it all.

He hadn't even thought to say no.

He was starving, thirsty, bled try, and every single cell of his body hurt – except for the places that Dabi touched him. It was a reprieve from his tortured existence.

It was wrong. It was wonderful.

Aizawa opened his mouth to protest, to tell Dabi to stop – but all that came out were half-hearted whines and moans.

Aizawa didn't even hear the ding of the camera when Dabi started the video.

"Tell me what you want, love," murmured Dabi when he took a breath.

Aizawa's cock was cold and aching without Dabi's warmth. Without Dabi's ministrations, his straining erection was just yet another body part that hurt – and the pain was too much. It was unbearable. Aizawa's eyes started to water and tears slipped down his temples. He just didn't want to be in pain anymore.

"D-don't," breathed Aizawa with pitiful hiccups cutting up his words, "Don't stop."

Dabi's tongue traced up Aizawa's shaft, and Aizawa bucked his hips up to meet empty air. Dabi's lone finger teased at Aizawa's prostate, but just barely applied any pressure. Everything ached and burned and screamed for release. Aizawa couldn't bare it any longer.

"You can do better than that," said Dabi as he started to pull his finger back out, but Aizawa's body clenched and tried to keep him inside.

"Please," begged Aizawa, he was dizzy and close, "please...I'm so tired, I just – I just want to feel better…"

Dabi pressed his finger back against Aizawa's prostate and wriggled in a delightful, sinful way. Aizawa tried to shift his hips down on the pleasurable feeling, chasing the painkiller of lust.

"Just fuck me," begged Aizawa so pitifully that his voice broke over the vowels, and Dabi started to move in a consistent rhythm. Finally, finally Aizawa edged closer to those pearly gates.

"Say my name," he ordered.

"Dabi," breathed Aizawa – his eyes shut in bliss as he felt Dabi's rough lips against the base of cock.

"Todoroki Touya," corrected Dabi – the sweltering breath tickling in Aizawa's pubic hair.

Aizawa's heart skipped a beat – and perhaps he realized Dabi had ulterior motives – but his mind was too muddled and broken to stop. He thrust his hips up, rutting against Dabi's cheekbone and trying to find friction in the humid air.

"Touya…Touya…" whispered Aizawa like a secret password as his resolve crumbled, "Touya – I want you…"

Dabi pulled away from Aizawa and set his hips back down on the mattress. Aizawa sobbed at the loss of contact – his old burns and bruises and hunger becoming so apparent without that oasis of pleasure – but Dabi was only shifting out of his joggers. Dabi poured the remaining lube over his cock and slathered the liquid over every crevice of Aizawa's ass. He gripped the base so tightly that veins stood out. He was well endowed. Long and thick, something that had terrified Aizawa once, but now Aizawa keened and arched his hips up to beckon that monstrosity forth.

"Are you ready, babe?" asked Dabi softy.

"Yes – yes, please," begged Aizawa, heady with the need to escape into goodness.

And then Dabi was kissing him, no teeth and no tongue, just a sweet and long lasting pressure. Dabi settled between Aizawa's legs without breaking the kiss. Ever so gently, Dabi pressed forward and slipped through Aizawa's ring of muscle without a hint of resistance.

"Ahh, yes," breathed Aizawa against Dabi's lips as he tried to take more and more, but Dabi had set a frustratingly slow pace. Desperate, Aizawa grabbed for Dabi's hand and placed it around his own aching cock. Dabi obliged and jerked Aizawa off with a gentle grip.

It took an eternity, but finally – finally – Dabi bottomed out.

"Look at that," muttered Dabi, breaking the kiss for the first time to point out the bulge in Aizawa's stomach.

Aizawa looked down to see the bump in his emaciated abdomen where Dabi pressed against his insides.

"You like seeing my dick fucking up your stomach?" asked Dabi softly, almost sweetly, "You wanna come now that you're full, pet?"

And Aizawa nodded despite himself – despite the fact that it was a villain who was making him feel better than anyone else had in his entire life – despite the fact that this man had nearly killed him countless times. It still felt so fucking good and Aizawa was so, so very close –

"Touya – don'tstop," begged Aizawa as he squirmed and shivered on the length spearing through his insides, "Le…lemme come, please…"

Aizawa's words were slurring as his energy depleted and his body ached for release, and Dabi obliged.

Dabi pulled halfway out, shifted his hips, and started thrusting purposefully straight into Aizawa's prostate.

Aizawa gasped, unable to form coherent words or thoughts, as his vision tunneled and went black. Fire and butterflies swirled in his stomach. Pleasure coiled tight as Dabi picked up his pace and tightened his grip around Aizawa's cock.

"Come for me, babe," urged Dabi.

"Ah – aahH!" cried out Aizawa as the sensations pushed him over the edge. Dabi focused his efforts around the tip of Aizawa's length and the coil released in a mind-numbing earthquake of pleasure that made Aizawa's body convulse, "Ah fuck!"

Finally, Aizawa was coming and everything was okay – everything was good.

Ropes of white ejaculate shot out over his own stomach, chest, and face. Dabi kept fucking him and jerking him off until the very last spurt – until Aizawa was reaching the brink of sensitivity – and then Dabi let go. Aizawa took a deep breath of sweet, ashen air. His skin vibrated with the afterglow and his insides thrummed happily around Dabi's still cock.

"I love you, Shouta," murmured Dabi, "Let's run away together."

Then, the camera dinged and the recording stopped.

Aizawa's eyes opened wide like saucers.

Of course Dabi had an ulterior motive. Lost in his lust driven delirium, Aizawa hadn't considered…

_Fuck._

Panic set in and flooded his veins like an ice water bath.

"No, no, you didn't," breathed Aizawa just shy of audible.

_He shouldn't have let it go this far – he stared at Dabi's self-satisfied expression – he really fucking shouldn't have – he was such a fucking idiot._

The afterglow was shattered as Aizawa struggled to wrap his mind around the repercussions of that recording and those damning words, but Dabi was quick to illuminate him.

"You know, Shouta, there have been rumors floating around that UA has a traitor…" started Dabi with a curling, malevolent smile, "So wouldn't the world be so interested to find out our dirty little secret?"

Aizawa's heart skipped so many beats he thoughts he might pass out.

"A traitorous whore working along side the League of Villains – " rumbled Dabi, "Bribing top heroes with sex and spying on minors – you'll never work as Hero again, Shouta."

Dabi started to laugh – an unkind and hurtful sound – as blue flames licked haphazardly over his body to match his chaotic euphoria.

"Delete it," demanded Aizawa with as much strength as he could muster despite the shame constricting his vocal chords. The request only made Dabi laugh harder.

Dabi shifted his hips to line up with Aizawa entrance. Dabi caught his breath and said, "What? You don't mind a bit of torture porn, but suddenly you're a goddamn prude when it comes to actually enjoying yourself? That's fucked up, babe."

On that last syllable, Dabi snapped his hips forward and tore into Aizawa's body.

"W-wait!" gasped Aizawa in sudden shock and splitting pain. The shock of reality had been enough to undo the foreplay, and Aizawa was instantly too tight again. Spurred on by Aizawa's suffering, Dabi jack-hammered his hips against Aizawa's thighs, earning a pained groan from the overly sensitive and tense man below him. Then, as quickly as he had started, Dabi pulled out with a lewd pop, flipped Aizawa over, and shoved himself back through the painfully resistant ring of muscle.

"Don't be so selfish after you got to come, you filthy slut," jeered Dabi, "you can't back out now that I'm so. fucking. close."

Every word was punctuated with a cruel, stabbing thrust into his guts that made Aizawa feel like vomiting. Dabi grabbed Aizawa's hair and forced him face first into the futon. Aizawa panicked. He couldn't see, and if Dabi wanted him blind – "Fucking shit, stop!"

A roar of blue hell flame thundered in Aizawa's ears before searing pain racing across the skin of his hips. Aizawa screamed into the sheets, blinded and unable to stop Dabi's fire.

The demon fucked into him with brutal strength, gripping his hips with one flaming hand. Aizawa felt his skin crack and wither in protest. Blisters bubbled and the smell of burning flesh overwhelmed every other sensation. Aizawa could hardly tell that Dabi was even fucking him, the pain of his skin was so intense. The only reprieve was when Dabi let go. For one blissful moment, Aizawa thought it might be over, but he was wrong. Dabi placed his free hand between Aizawa's shoulder blades and pushed until Aizawa thought his ribs might crack under the pressure.

"Please stop – please Dabi – " begged Aizawa through snot and tears and painfully compressed lungs, "Please, Touya!"

"Don't fucking call me that," snapped Dabi.

Then there was fire, white-hot fire that melted and charred and burned the skin between Aizawa's shoulder blades. Aizawa twisted and thrashed under the force of Dabi's assault – unable to feel the violent fucking through the sheer torment destroying the skin on his back.

And then there was darkness. Pain existed in the darkness, but there was no sense of self. No past, present, or future – only sheer agony. The distant sound of screams echoed in the darkness, and there was a faint understanding that those screams belonged to someone. But truly, there was only the call of death and fire. It went on for so long, it felt as if an eternity had passed…Aizawa wasn't sure when it stopped – if it ever stopped – he didn't feel Dabi's hips shudder against his ass. He didn't feel the hot liquid spilling inside of him, nor the sharp slap against his ass marking a job well done.

Dabi pulled out and left, but Aizawa couldn't tell.

He didn't even realize that Dabi wasn't touching him anymore, because he could still feel the devil's handprints burnt into his flesh.

_God_ – if there was one – his hazy mind called out to anyone – anything.

And then something answered as a door creaked open.

"Shouta," chided a familiar, rasping voice.

The scent of tobacco cut through the heavy cloud of charred flesh.

"Shouta," said that voice again – calling him back from the darkness – Aizawa knew that voice…

"Giran," croaked Aizawa through dry lips, his voice barely above a rasping whisper.

"Dabi told me I could find you here," muttered Giran with obvious distain, "I wasn't sure what I would find but…this is…fuck, Shouta…"

Aizawa couldn't quite place the emotion in Giran's voice. He didn't really care.

"Help me," he begged quietly, unable to move or open his eyes. A stray tear slid down Aizawa's nose and dripped onto the futon. His fists clenched in the fabric.

"Why should I help you?" asked Giran quietly, "You ran away from me. You fucked every living soul and ruined your body. Why would I do anything for you?"

Shame shuddered through Aizawa's core. He forgot Hizashi, his parents, his cats –

"Just let me die then."

"Don't say that, Shouta."

Anger flickered in Aizawa's weak heart.

"I'm not the only person in the world who can cancel out quirks," rasped Aizawa hatefully, more forcefully now but _god, it hurt to talk_, it felt like glass in his windpipe and sandpaper on his tongue, "this isn't about my blood, so just kill me already!"

Aizawa coughed violently and the jerking motions made him sob in agony.

"Stubborn as always," tutted Giran as he wiped sweaty tangles of hair from Aizawa's damp skin, "you haven't answered me yet – why should I help you?"

Aizawa grit his teeth.

Why should anyone help him?

He was just…just a slut who begged a monster to fuck him.

And look where it got him?

Aizawa groaned as he shifted his arm. Agony rippled in his skin as he reached out blindly, searching for purchase in the darkness. His fingers brushed something cold and metallic and refreshing – Giran's belt. Slowly, pushing through the ache in every joint, Aizawa pulled at the contraption that barred him from salvation.

Giran peeled Aizawa's fingers away and gently laid his arm back down to the futon.

"I don't want you like this," muttered Giran softly.

Aizawa's stomach churned.

He knew how Giran wanted him: pretty, docile, clean, and virginal.

He was none of those things. He had spent ten years making sure of it.

And yet, almost imperceptibly, Aizawa nodded.

"I'll be good," he whispered, making a deal with a snake to get away from a demon.

"I know you will," whispered Giran, "I know."

Giran pulled out his phone, and Aizawa's heart nearly stopped – but Aizawa heard faint ringing as Giran put the phone to his ear.

"Hey…yeah, I'm with him…call the healer," muttered Giran into the phone, so softly that Aizawa had to strain to hear him.

_A healer._

That simple word soothed Aizawa's soul like a balm on cracked skin. Finally, he could close his eyes again. Relief made him tired, or more so allowed him to succumb to the bone deep exhaustion. Aizawa faded out of consciousness before Giran's phone call ended.

"No, I haven't seen the news…what video?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten: Mass Hysteria**

It had been another two weeks.

Maybe.

It could have been more. It could have been less, but Aizawa tried his best to keep track of the days he was separated from Hizashi. He knew that he was required to shower or bathe twice daily, and tried hard to keep track of this mental tally – but it was hard when everything blurred together, because his mind wasn't quite right. It was more than that though. Time just didn't pass quite right in Giran's living quarters – not when Giran stole large swaths of time from Aizawa's memories everyday.

It was true that Giran could only make Aizawa forget ten minutes at a time with one touch, but when Giran was constantly touching him. Hours were lost as if Aizawa had been black out drunk. It was as if…Aizawa thought for a moment, but he had lost his train of thought.

Aizawa furrowed his brows and bit his lower lip – his mind went blank more and more often, and he couldn't remember simple things anymore like what he had been eating moments before, even if Giran's quirk weren't affecting him. However Giran's quirk worked, it seemed to have pervasive side effects. Speaking of hunger –

His stomach rumbled, and he sat up on the plush couch. The marble kitchenette wasn't too far, but his inner thighs ached from things he couldn't remember. Right, that's what Aizawa had been thinking about earlier. Giran was always touching him – always making him forget for hours and hours at a time until days blurred into nights. Aizawa could feel his mind slipping away…Aizawa blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes as his mind got fuzzy. He tried to remember why he had chosen to sit up.

Then, his stomach rumbled again. That's right, he was hungry. Aizawa forced himself up off the velvet cushions and ignored the twinge in intimate places. He stretched and felt as he were getting stronger physically at the very least. Despite the bandages on his arms keeping pressure on pillaged veins, despite the lack of autonomy and the nights he couldn't remember – his body was recovering. A healer had soothed the severity of his burns, but pink scar-tissue handprints still littered his pale skin. At least he couldn't see those handprints anymore, as Giran had provided him with clothing.

Meandering through the ornate suite, as over the top and as gaudy as the man who had designed it, Aizawa caught his reflection in the gilded, floor length mirror across the room. There he saw a man he hardly recognized. His hair was cut short – faded on the sides with a few inches on top. His beard had been shaved. His teeth had been flossed and brushed. The clothes were simple enough – a light grey set of pajama pants and a button down pajama shirt. The soft fabric was luxurious on his skin, and he had more sets than he knew what to do with.

Aizawa bit his lip as he watched his reflection watch back him in return. He ran a hand through his short hair and sighed. From so far away – unable to see the crows feet and age lines – he looked ten years younger. He looked the way Giran wanted him to look. Aizawa tore his gaze away and tried not to think about how he had spent a decade distancing himself from this façade that Giran had created, and how he was right back where he started.

He sighed, and made his way to the kitchen that was fully stocked with everything but knives or sharp implements. He grabbed a premade onigiri from the stainless steel fridge, feeling the plastic wrap crinkle under his fingertips, and guilt made his empty stomach clench. He didn't deserve to eat these good foods and wear these soft clothes – not when Hizashi was still trapped as a hostage in the basements below. Aizawa wanted nothing more than to go to him, to apologize for abandoning him and running away, to see if he was still alive or if Dabi had already killed him.

But Giran wouldn't tell Aizawa anything about Hizashi, and Aizawa still tensed when he remembered the first and last time that he had asked:

_They sat at the dining table – a farce of a family unit – and Aizawa chewed his meat steadily with an aching jaw. It had been so long since he had chewed anything of substances and the joints protested the effort. He swallowed, and wished that Hizashi could experience the privileged burden of eating too much too soon. Aizawa put down his fork. He was prohibited from using knives, and so Giran had already cut Aizawa's food into bite-sized pieces. _

_Aizawa waited a moment, collected his thoughts, and then looked up at Giran across the table. The man ate in silence, as per usual, and skimmed the news on the phone that never left his sight._

_"__Giran," started Aizawa softly, waiting to acquire the other's attention._

_Giran looked up over the rims of his lenses, looking all the more like a stern father discouraging a child from speaking out of turn. It made Aizawa's stomach turn, and so he chose his words carefully._

_"__I know you've done so much for me already, but the man I came here with…" Aizawa paused when he saw Giran narrow his eyes, "Is he dead?"_

_Giran locked his phone and interlaced his fingers over his mouth._

_Aizawa knew that look, and it made his heart race. He steeled himself for a harsh answer._

_"__There's no reason for you to be concerned with another man while you eat the food I've provided for you," he said, his cold eyes and flat tone making Aizawa go cold._

_Aizawa broke eye contact and stared at his plate._

_"__We were just colleagues, Giran," said Aizawa softly, bordering on an insistence that he knew Giran wouldn't appreciate._

_"__DON'T LIE TO ME," bellowed Giran in a jealous rage, and with a surprising agility, he reached across the table and grabbed Aizawa's wrist. Giran pulled Aizawa forward into the edge of the table with enough strength to bruise both Aizawa's wrist and his ribcage. There was silence as Giran squeezed until Aizawa winced, but Aizawa was still brave with his newly healed body – he hadn't relearned his lessons yet. "You want to see him don't you? Make sure your precious lover is doing alright?" snapped Giran, the grip ever tightening._

_"__I don't want to see him – I just want to know that you'll feed him and keep Dabi away from him," rushed Aizawa as the grip bent his bones and made his wrist start to creak, "Fuck – that hurts, Giran – "_

_"__You won't see him again, so you shouldn't care," rumbled Giran, "And watch your language, Shouta."_

_"__You know what I'll do if he dies," threatened Aizawa – an old threat – one that had worked well in the past, but the words always felt childish and petulant on his tongue._

_"__I'll kill you both if you don't learn to shut your goddamn mouth," snarled Giran – and in a flash of sterling silver, Giran stabbed his fork through Aizawa's hand and into the table below. Blood sprayed red over their faces like freckles and Aizawa screamed when the metal pierced through his flesh and muscle and sliced out through the other side. Giran released his grip, but the utensil nailed Aizawa's hand down and prevented him from retreating like the beaten dog he was._

_"__I'm sorry," groaned Aizawa as the pain laced up his arm and blood started to pool on the table._

_"__Finish your food," muttered Giran as he stood and took his plate to the sink – all the while muttered about wasted blood and ungrateful brats._

_Aizawa looked down and tried to stop himself from shaking with cries of pain. Tears were dripping onto his steak from the tip of his nose. He knew that Giran wouldn't remove the impaling weapon until Aizawa complied with his demands. He had been through these power plays before. And so Aizawa started to shovel the food into his mouth with his free hand. Giran had used Aizawa's fork, and so Aizawa ate like an animal until the pool of blood reached his empty plate._

_Giran watched and waited until Aizawa swallowed his last bite._

_Without a word, he yanked the fork out of Aizawa hand. Aizawa withdrew his hand swiftly back to his body, cradling it against his chest as blood blossomed against his shirt. He cried in agony until Giran finally pulled Aizawa into his arms. Aizawa flinched at the contact, but the gentle pressure and warmth helped soothe his shaking body._

_"__I'm sorry, too," muttered Giran, "I didn't mean to lose my temper. Do you forgive me?"_

_Aizawa nodded quickly against Giran's chest – there were no other answers to give that would not end in more pain and suffering._

_"__I'll make sure your friend is taken care of, but you know you can't see him." Giran rubbed Aizawa's back in small circles to soothe the man, "Not if you want my protection. Do you understand?"_

_Aizawa nodded again, his eyes shut and his soul shriveled. He knew Giran would hurt him sometimes. He knew that Giran's temper was a frightening beast to be reckoned with – but Dabi still scared him more, enough to comply with these demands and restrictions. But enough to abandon Hizashi? Aizawa wanted nothing more than to run to his old friend and make sure he was okay. And yet still, he nodded._

_"__Alright, I'll call the healer," said Giran gently, "This won't happen again, okay?"_

_"__Okay," whispered Aizawa, but he knew Giran was lying._

_Still, the promise of a healer was enough to make some small part of Aizawa feel cared for – and that just made Aizawa hate himself even more._

Aizawa sighed and shut his eyes against those memories. He hadn't angered Giran since, and Giran had kept his promise. He showed Aizawa photos of Hizashi alive and well – a kindness that Giran didn't have to bestow. Aizawa told himself that it was better this way. When Aizawa and Hizashi had cohabitated – Hizashi had been forced to rape him. Hizashi had been forced to murder someone. Hizashi had starved and wasted away with the ever-looming threat of Dabi over their heads. It was better this way. Aizawa told himself that Hizashi would be happier this way with peace and food and security. And so Aizawa tried to accept his fate – that this is what life would be like from now on – and this this is what Hizashi would have wanted.

Aizawa bit into the onigiri ball, but the flavors fell flat, and couldn't compare to the few life-saving meals he had shared with Hizashi in between episodes of brutality, rape, and torture. This thought, however, was thrust to the back of his mind, and Aizawa decided to wrap the onigiri up and put it back in the fridge. He was tired, and he had done too much thinking for the day. He just wanted to sleep until Giran inevitably came to wake him up. Aizawa went back to the couch, closed his eyes, and imagined that Hizashi was with him.

* * *

It had been two weeks since the video surfaced online. Or perhaps it was more like the video was abruptly forced into the public consciousness, unable to be contained or erased. It stared when school computer screens were hacked at noon, and it escalated when the video was sent to every single news outlet in Japan. It popped up on porn sites and social media sites until smaller domains were forced to shut down. The tabloids were next, spinning tall tales which misinformed news stations believed with alarming readiness. This was all that anyone could talk about for two weeks. Parents were furious. Students were scared. The news pandered to the fear of spies and corruption in hero society. The media cycle reached peak saturation within twenty-four hours, and the public outcry forced UA to shut down. Police investigations turned their sights on the UA staff. The search and rescue operations had been nearly forgotten by all but a few. Kayama Nemuri – Pro-Hero Midnight – was one of those few who remembered.

As Nemuri patrolled the empty halls of UA after dark, she stopped by the classrooms that had been left empty by her missing friends. Aizawa. Hizashi. Vlad. There had been no leads until that video surfaced, and Nemuri almost wished it hadn't. Standing in the doorway of the 1-A classroom that had been empty for just over a month now, Nemuri bit her lip and sighed. Her heart hurt, and unwanted images plagued her memories:

_"__Tell me what you want, love," murmured the man whose half scarred lip had just been wrapped around Aizawa's genitalia. Aizawa begged the man to keep going as the camera angle panned down to the man's finger wiggling inside of Aizawa's–_

_Momentarily frozen in place and hypnotized by the lurid images, Nemuri recovered and sprang to action across her Modern Art History lesson. She leapt forward to yank the cord out of the electrical socket, and the screen went dark just before the rest of Aizawa was exposed to his 1-A class. Her back was turned to the class, and there was complete, dreadful, silence. She couldn't think. She couldn't process what she had just seen. Sketches and grainy surveillance images of that villain's face had been on the news for weeks. A man known only as Dabi – already wanted for arson and a handful of suspected murders – had now been accused of abduction and kidnapping. Questions overloaded her mind. What was going on? Who had hacked into the school networks? Why was Aizawa on screen? Enjoying himself - allowing himself to be recorded? Nemuri's stomach twisted. She couldn't think straight, but her students – his students – were waiting, and so Nemuri turned slowly to face her students. The range of facial expressions stretched from fury, to disgust, to confusion, to terror. Her eyes fell on Bakugou – the poor kid who had only just recently been rescued from the League himself - and at great cost. She watched Bakugou's wide, fearful eyes that looked so out of place on his features. He had come back alone, and that weighed heavily on everyone in the school._

_Still, the students watched her with bated breath, waiting for her to react, but before Nemuri could speak again, the door flew open._

_"__Did you see?!" shouted Cementoss, but the horror stricken expressions told him all he needed to know._

_"__We saw - how - how did you know?" asked Nemuri, feeling unsteady and out of breath as she placed her palms on the teachers desk for support._

_"__It's everywhere – on every screen in the school – someone hacked UA," he said, the panic underlining his tone betraying his stoic expression, "Principle Nezu wants everything off now, phones, computers, everything!"_

_And then Cementoss ran to the next classroom, leaving 1-A in the wake of the news._

_"__Sensei…" started Uraraka with her finger tips tapping against each other and her cheeks redder than usual, "What's happening?"_

_"__I don't know," she groaned as she turned off her cell-phone to avoid anything that might be racing through the school's WiFi. _

_"__T-that man…" started Midoriya, his stammer stopping him momentarily, "he was at the training camp…he burnt down the forest…" A few of the students nodded and murmured – they remembered as if it were yesterday, and Bakugou slammed his fist on the desk._

_"__I remember that ugly bastard!" shouted Bakugou, interrupting Midoriya's mumbling in the process, "He was one of the assholes trying to brainwash me!"_

_"__Seriously?! Is Aizawa-Sensei brainwashed?" whined Mineta, his voice high pitched and grating on Nemuri's nerves "You didn't tell us that gross looking guy was a pervert, Bakugou!"_

_"__How the hell would I know that?!" shouted Bakugou, his face reddening as his temper flared, "I'd kill him before he tried shit like that!"_

_"__You don't have to be so defensive," muttered Mineta, growing smaller in his chair, "If Aizawa-Sensei couldn't fight it, it's less embarrassing if you couldn't either."_

_"__Shut the fuck up and die!" snarled Bakugou as smoke seeped from the palms of his hands, "No one fucking touched me!"_

_Explosions rattled the desk beneath Bakugou's hands, and Nemuri stepped between the boys before Bakugou could attack the smaller boy. A fight had been brewing between them for months since Mineta accused Bakugou of liking men because he ignored the girls in class, and it seemed like those homophobic tensions were reaching a breaking point._

_"__Calm down, this isn't helping," ordered Nemuri, her hand threatening to rip her sleeve and knock out the entire class, but the students couldn't be contained. _

_"__Well, Aizawa-Sensei would never do that with a villain. That probably wasn't even him!" proclaimed Kaminari, and Kirishima agreed reverently, adding nonsensical opinions on masculinity and heroism. There was a chorus of a agreement from the rest of the students._

_"__I don't know…it looked like he was enjoying it," said Mineta darkly from behind Nemuri's protective stance, "And he was literally asking for it."_

_"__Shut up, Mineta," groaned Mina, "you can't say shit like that, you idiot."_

_"__You don't know what you're talking about," added Momo, "didn't you see the burns on his body? That man has a fire based quirk - if he wanted to - to force Aizawa-sensei to act a certain way…" Momo's voice broke over the implication. And then the room went quiet and the murmuring stopped, even Mineta got a pained look on his face. Nemuri swallowed. She hadn't noticed anything besides the obvious – had there really been burns? Her stomach did flips and her skin tingled with sympathetic pain. Before the students could discuss any further, a voice sounded over the intercom:_

_"__This is Principle Nezu. Classes have been cancelled for the day. Teachers, please escort your students to their dormitories. The students are not permitted to leave for the next twenty-four hours. Meals will be delivered. The Internet service to the buildings has been shut down. After the students have been escorted, we will have host all staff meeting in the conference room within the hour. Stay safe and take care."_

_Chatter broke out in pockets across the room. Nemuri grabbed her whip and cracked the weapon in the air. "Everybody shut up and follow me," barked Nemuri. She turned and trusted that the students would follow. She didn't want to think about Aizawa willing fucking a villain. She didn't want to think about what those burns on his body meant either. Nemuri and the students walked in silence. Any whisper of conversation earned a snarl from Nemuri and a crack of her whip. They went quickly, and so she was one of the first teachers back to the conference room at UA._

_Principle Nezu and Thirteen sat whispering at the oval table when Nemuri walked in. _

_"__Nemuri, how is 1-A?" asked Nezu, his twitching tail betraying his calm voice._

_"__They're not doing well," sighed Nemuri as she sat and put her head in her hands, "those kids were molded into heroes by Aizawa; he made them who they are today…he's like a father figure to them."_

_"__You would think that things would have changed by now, but panic brings out the worst in some people," said Nezu quietly. _

_Nezu nodded with a solemn expression. The video didn't look good, and while Japan was becoming more progressive, the LGBT community still lacked visibility. Of course there was still intolerance. "And Todoroki Shoto?" asked Nezu._

_Nemuri frowned and thought back to the face of the students. Todoroki was always so stoic and quiet – she hadn't noticed him. "I don't know. Bakugou seemed the most agitated, but that's to be expected – " started Nemuri until she noticed the look exchanged between Nezu and Thirteen. She didn't have a chance to ask before a few other teachers filed in. Power Loader, Snipe, an Ectoplasm clone, and Recovery Girl were the last of the staff who were not required to guard the dorms. _

_"__Did anyone finish the video?" asked Nezu as the teachers took their seats. Most expressions were hidden behind masks, but there was a general air of queasiness, and everyone shook their heads. "Understandable, it was difficult to watch – but the video was provided to media outlets as well, and there was a development half way through that strictly pertains to one of our students in particular – Todoroki Shoto." There was murmuring across the table, but no one had heard, and no one had dared let the video play."The man in the video – Dabi – he claimed that his birth name was Todoroki Touya," said Nezu before an outburst of disbelief:_

_"__That' s impossible! Endeavor doesn't have a son that old! I've know him for decades!"_

_"__Dabi is a villain, he's obviously lying!"_

_Nezu waited for their indignation to pass before continuing, "Regardless of whether or not his claims are true or false, elements of the video were…particularly convincing to mainstream media." A murmur swept through the teachers. "Our own student, Todoroki Shoto, may not be safe anymore, and we must remain vigilant."_

_"__Are the villains coming for him?" asked Nemuri, suddenly feeling guilt stricken that she had left the students to fend for themselves._

_Nezu shook his head and sighed, "No. There has been a public outcry within the past half hour to remove Endeavor from his agency and strip him of his license. The hashtag - TodorokiTakeDown - has been trending in the social media algorithms. Todoroki Touya's birth certificates – forged or not – have surfaced as well, and the timing is…inconvenient…given what happened to All Might at Camino Ward just a few weeks ago."_

_Nemuri bit her lip and fidgeted with the sleeve of her suit, "So people think that Endeavor is corrupt?"_

_"__We all know that people have looked for reasons to hate Endeavor for years," confirmed Nezu, "but they think our teachers – Aizawa at the very least – may be corrupt as well. We don't need to worry about the villains right now; we need to worry about the police and public hysteria. An investigative team is on its way."_

_"__Aizawa isn't a traitor," said Nemuri with less conviction than she had intended, but she knew that his promiscuous reputation – his questionable choices in men – his sour attitude and lack of respect for the media – none of this was going to work in his favor. The dissent began almost immediately:_

_"__You don't know that, Nemuri. From what I saw, it didn't look like he was fighting back," muttered Higari, Pro-Hero Power Loader._

_"__You've worked with him for years," spat Nemuri, her hands shaking with rage, "You know he's a good person."_

_"__That's the thing, Nemuri - I don't know him that well…none of us do besides you, Hizashi, and Vlad. And now those three go missing together?" Higari muttered in response, "We can't...we can't just ignore all the signs. We know that someone's been leaking information…I don't want to believe that Aizawa is a traitor, but I don't believe that anyone here is a traitor either. Given the evidence…don't you see how suspect it is?!"_

_"__How can you say things like that, Higari?" Her fingers balled into fists until her nails threatened to break skin, "They've been abducted for weeks – you don't know what he's doing to survive."_

_"__I would rather die than survive like that," snarled Higari as he stood with his own fists at the ready, and Nemuri stood to match him._

_"__Calm down!" barked Ectoplasm, his clones populating the room to contain the potential outbreak, but the teachers kept their composure._

_"__We will talk about this later," said Nezu firmly, "Nemuri is right. Until we know more – Aizawa is still one of us, and we will not turn against one of our own. That's the last thing anyone needs right now."_

_"__Principle Nezu – " started Power Loader._

_"__Dismissed," said Nezu, and the teachers dispersed with their tails between their legs. _

Nemuri was still furious recalling those hateful words exchanged at that the meeting. It had been two weeks since then, and she still wanted to wring Higari's neck for doubting their friend. Sure, everyone knew something was off about Aizawa - he was grouchy and isolated and borderline cruel to his students at times - but Nemuri knew he wasn't a traitor. If only the public agreed…Aizawa's entire life had been dissected for two whole weeks on public television, and the media had been nothing less than mean spirited. At least no more videos had been released, but society was still in chaos. The general feeling was that if a high school teacher/Pro-Hero could become one the most-wanted men in Japan, then no one was safe, and no one could be trusted.

Nemuri sighed and closed the classroom door. She made her way back to the dorms to check on the students remaining in the dorms. Nearly half of the students had been temporarily withdrawn by anxious parents – including Todoroki Shoto – but who could blame that family? Endeavor had not made a single statement, nor had anyone seen him leave his estate. The Todoroki siblings had all been called back to their family home, and not a single one had left the property since. Endeavors reaction did nothing to help sway public opinion in a positive direction, and so it was dangerous for any Todoroki to be seen in public right now. It was understandable, but at least a few students remained. And so Nemuri made her way across campus and entered the dorms without so much as a knock. When she walked into the community room, a small gathering of students jumped out of their skins and shoved papers into the couch cushions. Coincidentally, it comprised of mostly the same group of students who had gone after Bakugou at Camino Ward: Midoriya, Kirishima, Momo, Kaminari, Iida, Tokoyami, and Jirou. They looked guilty and nervous and entirely suspect.

Nemuri frowned and crossed her arms across her chest, "Heroes need better poker faces, kids." There was a smattering of awkward chatter as Nemuri's eyes narrowed. There was a notebook half hidden under Kaminari's leg, and Nemuri released an exasperated sigh. She extended her palm and said, "Give me the notebook under Kaminari and the papers in the sofa behind Midoriya."

The students hurried to comply, and the scent of nervous teenage sweat permeated the air. Nemuri opened the notebook. The first page consisted of a list of locations surrounding the past areas of operation for the League. Half of the items were crossed out. She flipped to the next page and noticed Midoriya's scribble instantly. There were paragraphs upon paragraphs of theoretical usages of each student's quirk. First was Jirou and her earjack quirk – it was noted that her quirk would be useful in narrowing down the list of locations. Next was Kirishima and his resilience to fire quirks…fuck, this was irresponsible. When had they had a chance to do this during lock down?

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" barked Nemuri, "This isn't the time to draw more unwanted attention to UA."

It was quiet for a moment until Iida spoke.

"I apologize and take full responsibility, Kayama-sensei!" shouted Iida as he bowed until his forehead touched the coffee table.

"Damn it, Iida, I know this wasn't your idea," snapped Nemuri, crinkling the papers in her hand.

"We're just trying to help," mumbled Kaminari, "It seems like none of the adults care about finding them anymore."

Jirou elbowed Kaminari in the side, and whispered something angrily, too soft for Nemuri to hear.

"This is grounds for expulsion," snapped Nemuri, "Not only are most of you on probation for Camino Ward, but don't you know what would happen to UA if this got out? If any of you ended up severely injured or even dead?!" A ripple of soft explosions pulled Nemuri's attention towards Bakugou. "Katsuki Bakugou - don't you dare - " she started before Bakugou cut her off.

"You're wrong about this!" he shouted so loudly that his voice echoed off the walls. His face look pained and Nemuri's throat closed over her words, "I know this is dangerous - more than anyone else here, but I also know that we can't leave him there. We can't leave any of them there! We're heroes for fucks sake! How can you live with yourself without trying to help? Aren't you supposed to be setting a good example?" His angry tone faded into something soft and broken, and he said, "Those people are villains, and I don't care what you say…I'm getting our teachers back." He crossed his arms and tried to look brave, but Nemuri had already seen him.

"Bakugou," started Nemuri gently, her expression softening as she watched this poor, guilt-stricken child trying to act grown up in an unforgiving world, "it's not your responsibility – no one here is responsible for what us adults need to figure out. They're going to be okay," she lied through her teeth, "We're going to save them."

"They won't be," spat Bakugou, "you don't know what they're like."

Nemuri's heart hurt, and she pressed a palm to her chest. She didn't know what Bakugou had gone through while he was taken - no one did. He had obstinately refused any medical or psychological care. The only reason he had gotten away with going straight home was because no one wanted to put him through the trauma of sedating him and dragging him to the hospital - it helped that he appeared entirely uninjured, but this made Nemuri think that Bakugou had been omitting some horrible truths. She wanted to ask. She wanted to know what her friends might be going through this very moment, but she wouldn't - not when a quarter of the class was listening in.

"You're right, we can't know what's happening to them, but…" Nemuri paused. Where had her youthful vigor gone? When had she become so stern? Perhaps Bakugou was right, but it was irresponsible. It was illegal even, but she saw the pain and determination under Bakugou's flushed cheeks - the desperate need to make a difference on the faces of her students – and Nemuri's heart swelled with a youthful passion, "Look…just - just show me what you have so far, okay?" And so, Nemuri took a seat on the sofa between Midoriya and Iida. If this was going to happen - and she doubted she could stop them - then they were going to need help.

"You mean we can try?" gasped Midoriya in disbelief, and Nemuri nodded softly.

"You'll need someone who can subdue the enemy," said said as she opened the notebook of plans and started to read, "and I'll take responsibility for whatever happens."

The students looked at one another, and hope returned to their faces.

"Fuck yeah!" Shouted Kaminari, with a final elbow jab from Jirou.

* * *

Two weeks passed in solitary confinement – that's how long it had been since Dabi took Aizawa away. Hizashi could still see the fear in Aizawa's eyes when he was taken away. That image plagued him. He knew what that psychotic monster did to Aizawa, and it killed Hizashi that he couldn't care for Aizawa's injuries afterwards, and he was sure that Aizawa was accumulating injuries. It drove him crazy while he was alone, and his only visitor was hardly reassuring. Every other day or so, a strange masked man came by to provide Hizashi with food and the shots that suppressed his quirk. The man never stayed long and never answered any of Hizashi's questions, so Hizashi didn't know where Aizawa was, or if Aizawa was okay. Hizashi's only hint that Aizawa was alive was that the League continued to waste quirk suppressants on him. He was sure those small syringes of fluid would be worth too much, especially if the source had died. But Aizawa wouldn't die, Hizashi told himself, not now. Not here.

And so Hizashi bided his time and tried to think of a way out. In his stir-crazed state, Hizashi could only fantasize about bellowing so loudly that the building collapsed around him and buried the villains in rubble – but that was so very un-heroic of him. No, Hizashi would subdue them…he would call for help…he would find Dabi and slice his goddamn fucking throat.

No.

"Stop it," he groaned into the silence.

Hizashi shook his head and pressed his fingertips into the sides of his skull. He couldn't think those thoughts. Those were evil, malicious thoughts that heroes didn't think about. Hizashi's heart raced as he tried to think about anything else, but there was so little to think about in this barren, lonely room.

If only Dabi would visit him. Hizashi wouldn't be scared this time. He would wrestle him to the ground even without his quirk and force Dabi to bring him to Aizawa. He would make Dabi pay and let Aizawa watch.

"STOP," bellowed Hizashi.

The shout rang in the room. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth. His toes curled in the bed sheets and his fingers pressed into his skull until everything hurt. Panicked by the ill intentions racing in his mind, Hizashi sprang out of bed and ran to the bathroom. He kicked past empty food containers and left footprints in the ashes of Vlad's cremation. Hizashi turned on the cold water – making sure it was as cold as ice – and flattened his palms against the shower tiles. Hizashi exhaled forcefully as the icy water shocked his system. He knew that isolation could drive someone crazy, but it felt like he wasn't even himself anymore. He felt angry. He felt violent. Memories of blood flickered in his mind – Vlad's blood. He felt the vibration of impact coursing up his forearms from the moment he crushed Vlad's skull with that metal rod. The regret and remorse were gone. His hands itched with the need to hurt something, someone, anyone –

"Get it together," Hizashi whispered to himself, "this isn't who you are."

But still the anger burned in him, and the icy shower could no longer quench that fire no matter how badly his limbs shivered and his teeth chattered. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay…" He muttered until his voice gave out from the hypothermic chills. Hizashi waited until his brain was as numb as his body. Until the anger was frozen and sleeping in his core, and slowly he began to feel like himself again. He pulled himself out of the ice water shower, and dragged his shaking limbs through the ash covering the bathroom floor. As he made his way slowly back to bed, Hizashi heard a knock at the door. The door opened, but Hizashi didn't look up. He fully expected the masked man to make another series of rude and non-linear comments before leaving an odd assortment of edible items. Last time, it had been a few cups of green Jell-O along with a steaming hot instant ramen. The time before that had been a lukewarm, microwaved bag of vegetables and a tuna fish sandwich with a bite taken out of it. He felt sick just thinking about whatever the man would bring next.

"What, are you that unhappy to see me?" rumbled a voice that Hizashi hadn't heard in weeks.

Fuck. Panic slugged through his icy veins, and Hizashi forced himself to turn towards the offending voice. There stood Dabi, the man who had taken Aizawa away and never brought him back.

"Where is he?" demanded Hizashi through gritted teeth. Water droplets fell from his wet hair and overgrown blonde beard as he shook with anger. Before Dabi could respond, Hizashi saw red, and Hizashi vaulted himself up over the bed that separated them and bellowed despite his lack of a quirk, "Tell me where he is before I snap your neck!"

A flash a blue fire blinded Hizashi long enough to disorient him, the heat made him flinch. There was a flurry of parried blows and a well-placed punch to the throat that left Hizashi gasping for air. Hizashi felt hands on his forearms, and Dabi's leg swept under Hizashi's feet to throw him off balance. Before he knew it, Hizashi was whirled around onto his stomach and bent over the edge of the bed.

"You think I won't kill you, you motherfucking asshole," snarled Hizashi as he struggled uselessly against Dabi's hold, "What are you going to do? Fuck me? Well I don't give a shit!"

Hizashi snapped his teeth at the nearest fingers pressed into the bed - trying to bite a finger off in one fell swoop - until Dabi started to laugh.

"You're not my type," chuckled Dabi without releasing Hizashi, "A few decades too old to be honest."

"You sick fuck!" Bellowed Hizashi. He thrashed and snarled into the bed – all the rage he had been feeling while cooped up in this hell – all the violent urges were breaking every barrier he had built up. "You had no problem hurting Aizawa!"

"Yeah well, Giran paid me well for that and Viagra does wonders when you need to keep it up," said Dabi with another raucous burst of laughter.

"I'll kill you, I'll kill you, I swear to god I'll kill you," growled Hizashi repeatedly, his spit foaming at his lips.

"I'd like to see you try, but don't you want to know why I'm here?" asked Dabi before letting Hizashi go and taking a few steps back. Hizashi swirled and lunged immediately, but Dabi easily sidestepped his clumsy efforts. One more poorly executed punch from Hizashi, and Dabi had Hizashi twisted into a standing wristlock.

"I don't care why you're here," spat Hizashi as he felt his joints starting to twist out of place.

Dabi shrugged and took out a rope from his deep jacket pockets. "Well, I'm supposed to debrief you anyways. We need to do some tests on your blood chemistry and shit, so you can either walk down the hall with me, or I can hog-tie you."

"What are you saying?" barked Hizashi as he pulled in vain against Dabi's wristlock.

"I thought you weren't interested," laughed Dabi, but he continued on anyways and started to wrap the rope around Hizashi's slackening wrists, "I don't understand all the science bullshit, but Shigaraki said that using the quirk suppressants does something to the brain…anger, psychosis, seizures or something…I don't know, but the boss man wants a medical work up since you're the last one here who got dosed."

"What about - where are the others?" asked Hizashi with a panicked stutter - his anger dying out for the first time as fear became his predominant emotion.

"Well, you killed the first one," laughed Dabi as he proceeded to drag Hizashi out of the room, "And everyone else is dead."

* * *

_**(A/N) Going into lockdown soon, and it reminds me to enjoy my hobbies and do what I love as self care in these awful times. So, to everyone who has kept up with this story over the past year, and to everyone new as well: Take care, my dear readers, and stay healthy. With love, Aspen**_


	11. Update

**Lovely Readers,**

**Thank you for coming with me on this journey, and for staying interested for so long. The reviews you have offered have meant the world to me. I will not stop writing these stories, but I will be moving to Archive of Our Own (AO3) permanently. The stories will be the same, with the same titles. My username, AspenRising, is the same on AO3 as well. I have loved this website for a long time, but it just feels like the time to become a one website gal. Please join me at A03 if you wish.**

**In other news, I myself am in a COVID-19 hotspot. I am fortunate enough to work from home, and I am staying away from my friends and family, but I know that not everyone else is able to create that social distance whether they live with older relatives or are forced to work on site. So please, my friends, take care of yourselves. Take care of your neighbors. My love is with you.**

**In health,**  
**Aspen**


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